


The Night We Met

by VanillaWeathers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Christmas Eve, Cold Weather, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Grey skies, Harry Styles - Freeform, Hope, Literature and quotes, Lots of city lights, Lots of pink lemonade, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, New Years, Slow Romance, Smoke and shadows, Some Bitterness, Strangers to Lovers, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, lots of emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 62,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28767777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaWeathers/pseuds/VanillaWeathers
Summary: Louis' world is one etched in blues and greys. It's one set apart from the city, because where there is chaos and the blinding city lights, there is calm and a world of bleakness right across the same plank. Louis's right there, with sweaty hands and a heart of anguish, cut away from where the world screams loud. Where disappointments pile and hearts bleed.Until a stranger walks into his pub one day, with a smile that traces hope and words that resonate change. The world watches in anticipation.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 36
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii :) The title for this is from the song 'The Night We Met' by Lord Huron. It sort of sets the tone for the whole fic. 
> 
> Anyways so, the biggest shoutout to my lovely [beta](https://destieliscanonnow.tumblr.com/) for cheering me on after I finished writing the first draft back in December. Also for all the patience and enthusiasm that I'm just so grateful for! 
> 
> Massive, massive thank you to my sister for sitting through all of my unending ramblings and long complains all through the process and for being the first person to read the story :)
> 
> Of course, the biggest, warmest hugs to my best friend Anna (friendship soulmates DO exist) for being the one source of constant motivation and support through everything and just... being the perfect best friend. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you to every single person who showed even the slightest enthusiasm for this story and cheered me on despite how painfully secretive I could be sometimes (Marsh, I'm looking right at you). I just really love you okay <3
> 
> [Here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1u2GtCHdWrXUF6zlTIYMxT?si=JVincf9fRDWMxCbtISdC5w) is the playlist if you're looking for some vibes and just getting into the feel. It helped me set the mood while I was writing :)

It’s a grey evening, filled with wispy smoke and dust stretching out underneath an obsidian sky. Smoke clogs Louis’ vision, curling near his fingertips and accentuating the dark spots that dance close by. The metallic taste in his mouth is more bothersome than ever as more oaky, silvery smoke lathers the air thickly, running down his throat.

Louis breathes it all in nevertheless, shifting himself to the side and audibly groaning as his entire body protests a sore response. He’s out of shape, tired and very reluctant to move an inch. He realizes all of it, he does. So he doesn’t push any further and remains in the same position instead, curled up and slumped facefirst. More smoke stings his nostrils.

The pub is still packed with people- large, warm, heavily clad bodies occupy every table, every sitting area as slow, sporadic murmur rises above all of it, entrapped in smoke and the strong, pungent smell of beer. The mere sight of it, with the strong winds roaring ferociously beyond the windows- it makes Louis obnoxious. It makes him want to wilt right into the greasy counter he is currently slumped on.

The doorbell to the pub dings again, bringing in a whiplash of bone chilling winds before the door swishes back and shuts, the murmurs grow louder, more pints are pushed along the table, more cigarettes are pressed into ashtrays and Louis just watches it all.

He’d prefer to do just that someday. Just… watch the world around him. Watch the chaos, the conversations, the disagreements, there’s beauty to all of it. There’s almost some substance there, and Louis likes to observe it, to watch it unfold, to grow- but to not touch it. Ever.

He’d rather watch the chaos than get his own hands dirty. The thought leaves behind a bitter aftertaste, lathered on the tip of his tongue. Regret? Disappointment? Maybe.

“Your shift isn’t over Tommo.” Stan’s voice immediately startles awake Louis’ currently slumped thoughts, sharp and impatient. Louis considers snapping back but lets the thought roll to dust instead. It’s really not worth it. Nothing ever really is.

How bitter and morose. A fucking incredible start to the night.

“Louis.”

This is hard.

“I know. Give a man two minutes to breathe, will you?” Louis swallows down the irritation bubbling in his throat as he lifts himself up and sits up straight behind the counter. That goddamn greasy, beer stained counter he cleans every single day. A tiring, laborious job life threw his way when everything else around him was dust and sand.

It has been nearly a year and the counter is still greasy, smoke still fills dark spaces, the doorbell still dings, the pub still reeks and Louis continues to drag through every single painful day.

“There are few people right there-“ Stan motions hurriedly to Louis’ right, his dark oily hair shining slick on his forehead, “- They’ll be needing their drinks, so get there quick. It’s just 10 o’clock, there’s more to do.”

_“There’s more to do."_

There’s an undercurrent of authoritativeness under that forcibly controlled voice. It needs to be pushed just an octave higher to transform into proper, scratchy yelling. The aggressive, brimming with anxiety kind that makes Louis’ ears bleed.

But that’s just how Stan is. He’s human too after all.

And Louis understands that- he does. So he forces down every vile, snappy reply frothing on his tongue and quietly slides past Stan’s up right, sturdy, muscled figure (he was the captain of his university football team apparently.) and makes his way to the right side of the counter instead. It’s just 10 o’clock after all- there’s more work. There always is. Every single long, cold, frustrating day.

“What would you like me to make you?” Louis throws on a large, friendly smile as he speaks to the closest man in sight. The man appears slightly aloof, his head hung low; cloaked in darkness and remnants of smoke. Louis glances at him just once before sliding open the glass cabinet, fingers icy on the clear glass and pulling out long, cocktail glasses before setting them down in front of the man- who still hasn’t responded or acknowledged Louis yet.

“Sir?” Louis tries again, unbothered by how dry and exhausted he sounds. The door jingles noisily further away, stoking the brewing irritation. Half of him is pushing fiercely to get home- to his tiny, compact apartment- fast, meanwhile the other half is just… Tired. Too tired to process anything at all.

And the man still hasn’t looked up. Fucking wonderful.

Louis clicks his tongue, letting it skim the roof of his palette before slowly turning around and forcing down something hot in his throat. It’s embarrassment maybe, but there’s more to it- pent up anger and helplessness sprinkled all over. It’s always there, always coating all his words with bitterness. With constant inexplicable frustration.

“I’m sorry, I don’t drink actually.” A voice cuts in. It jolts him a bit; like a palm slapped on ice.

Louis immediately turns his head around, searching for the source of that deep, gentle voice. It’s Stranger, looking up with bright eyes, like a dim torch amongst thick shadows. It’s green and large and very warm.

“You’re at a pub in the most shadowy corner in the whole of Nottingham, and you don’t drink?” Louis comes closer, surprising himself with the incredulous lilt to his tone, “Like, at all?”

“Yeah, I don’t. It’s just quite moody here and I don’t know, separated from the city I guess?” The man- the boy continues, ending with a stutter.

Louis now sees him properly- a small head dipping out of the shadows slightly, with long brown curls hanging low, down to his neck and curling near his collarbones. His lips stay set in a calm, kind manner. Large, wondrous eyes blink slowly, quietly watching Louis.

It’s all very jarring. Very unlike anyone Louis normally sees at the pub. There’s some life there, some almost… Sincerity. No drunk direct orders, no inebriated slurring, no ridiculous laughter, no red sad eyes. It’s all very new.

Louis turns his head to the side, the silence lingering for a few seconds too long before he responds. “It’s nearly winter and it gets pretty windy so it’s definitely more tranquil in here.” He rubs his hands together involuntarily, “It could get warmer too if our heaters functioned for more than three months a year.” He laughs, dry and low.

Stranger takes it all in with parted lips and slow, almost analytical eyes. “It’s alright though. Nice and cozy sorta place.”

And smoky. And grimy. And chilled. And horribly dim. Louis feels almost tempted to add all of it, but he bites it down. It’s a deep rooted hatred that has grown against this dingy place he drags himself to work at every single day; unloading that frustration on a customer would hardly be fair.

“Maybe.” Louis shrugs, sensing the end of the conversation as he swiftly turns around and gets to another set of people, brandishing his glasses to a group of young men with pipes in their mouth, guffawing and taking off their large thick coats.

It’s still cold outside then, Louis thinks to himself as he absent mindedly prepares a few tonics and cocktails, cold jittery hands skimming down the glasses and pouring the alcohol in. It’s all such a routine, so rehearsed, so… boring.

There’s no use of even feeling any sort of remorse though. This is what his job is, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He still has to pay his rent, buy his groceries, pay the hefty electricity bill he somehow manages to rack up every month- because see, that’s just how life is. That’s just how the world is. It keeps you under its clutches, makes you squirm and wriggle and force you to mould exactly the way it expects you to fit in.

There’s no mercy there and Louis feels agitation, frustration, disappointment flit through his bloodstream every single day- all of it to no avail.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Hey, _Hey_.”

Fucks sake.

“Yeah, I’m making it. Hold on sir.” Louis responds as gently as his voice allows to the bloke standing a few feet away, with crossed arms, a horribly trimmed moustache and a very unimpressed look marring his features. Louis could hardly care, he half expects to get yelled at at this point.

The doorbell jingles and more people mill into the pub, voices rise an octave higher, a distant laugh echoes from beyond the shadows, glasses are knocked together and the icy wind blows, loud and fierce beyond all of it. A quiet reminder of the chaos that is very much alive past this cold haven of smoke and beer.

“Take me back to the night we met..” Louis whispers to himself, blocking out all the mindless chatter surrounding him. It's a tune he finds very comforting, almost like a strong rooting to reality. Something that he… Well, it’s something he needs to be reminded of.

Reality. Circumstances. Obstacles. He hums the tune in an effort to remain calm, to push away the voices, the badgering, the moodiness that will fill his thoughts otherwise.

“Take the glasses from that table.” Stan presses his palm into Louis back, exhaustion weighing down on his own words as he caters to few more men impatiently asking for refills.

It’s so exhausting. It’s sticky almost- like a horrible, thick glue plastered over Louis’ bones. Dull, heavy exhaustion.

“Yeah, bring the new bottles from inside.” Louis’ mouth manages to drag out as he walks past the disgusting, stained counter and towards the empty table; littered with ash trays, tissue papers and empty beer glasses. The sight makes him slightly giddy, slightly obnoxious. There’s

no way he can ever get used to this job.

From the periphery, he notices the Curly headed stranger shift on his stool, long legs propped up neatly, knees brushing the counter as he crouches. He’s…… Writing? Painting?

It’s hard to make anything out from the distance with all the shadows spilling over his lonesome figure. There’s a certain level of hostility and nervousness there, as though he doesn’t really want to draw any sort of attention to himself. It’s sweet. Well yeah, considering how good natured and composed he appeared to Louis just minutes ago.

The night brightens slightly, minute after minute, hour after hour and Louis begins losing track of time. Smoke, alcohol, murmurs- all of it stays on repeat. Filling the hours, flooding the floorboards, bleeding through Louis’ ears and providing a striking contrast to the harsh angry winds that race beyond the windows.

Stranger begins to slowly step out, dipping his entire (and surprisingly tall) body from the shadows to carefully stand up at one point. Louis notices a long notebook in his hand and pouch crushed between his large fingers… So he must have been writing or drawing. Artists normally tend to find solitude and inspiration for their work in dull, moody pubs like these and Louis finds that pretty damn hilarious actually.

Because this pub literally _reeks_. As an entirety, every damn crevice, every clatter, every familiar ding of the doorbell spirals Louis’ frustration. It’s possibly the worst place in the whole of Nottingham to find some peace of mind- and yet Louis has noticed artists, painters, poets, writers, all of them finding their way here. Just.. somehow.

It’s amusing.

Stranger stretches a bit, runs long fingers down his hair and Louis almost- _almost_ catches the glint of rings (He’s far too tired, his mind could be playing tricks). It doesn’t take too long after that, Louis turns his head for half a second to attend to a grumbly old man asking for a refill- and Stranger is gone. Out into the cold, windy night. The enormous, scary world.

The _real_ world. Beyond all the illusions, the drunkenness, the momentary haze of the pub that tends to capture one in.

Bottles clink together and Louis averts his eyes back to his work, like a camera flash blinding him momentarily and leaving him dazed.

Too many thoughts, too much clutter.

“Two more hours Louis, c’mon man, there’s more to do.” Stan sidles past him, four liquor bottles clasped in one hand rather impressively. The door jingles again, bringing in a few new people, clad in heavy coats and scarves, cigarettes dangling down ashy lips, “And that bloody door just won’t stop jingling.”

“There are people out there who actually enjoy their work.” Louis slowly says, weighing each word and surprising himself with the heavy amusement that drips out of it, “Like, they actually get out of bed every morning to do something they _enjoy_.”

It’s all so cranky. But Louis doesn’t bother how Stan judges him- it’s something that has grown between them. Neither of them really care about what they think of each other, or how they get silently judged on occasions. They’re co workers, they have a job together, they learn to maintain a friendly distance. Basic work ethic.

It’s simple.

“Bitter as fucking always, aren’t you?” Stan huffs out, shaking his head with a thick condescending smile plastered on that grim, freckled face of his.

Ha. He’s quite the bloody saint, isn’t he?

“You hate it too Stan. We all do, what’s the point of-”

“Yeah, but we have to still do it.” Stan almost snaps, rolling the liquor bottles in his hand with suppressed rage, “So there’s no point in being bitter all the damn time, alright?”

Alright?

Ha. If only it was that simple.

“Great man, good talk.” Louis thumps his tumbler down, pushing down all the anger- the pent up words scratching his throat, bruising his tongue. He shuffles away, putting as much distance as he can from that horrible, hurtful co worker he is stuck with every night. Every long, tiring, laborious night.

Stan doesn’t respond, of course he doesn’t. Another unspoken rule. If one snaps, the banter ends. The exhaustion is allowed to drag along. Simple.

The night dwindles down to dull murmurs and low drunken breathing, pooling across the tiny pub, like sludge spreading, percolating, reaching out across an expanse. Like a heavy fog settling down and trapping everyone within, an illusion. A slice of it. Just for the night.

It will come back. Again. Tomorrow.

And Louis really doesn’t want to face any of it. He’s tired. The bits of ice on his hands sting like needles, they burn far more than they should. He’s aware of everything, hyper aware, even.

The door jingles again just as he prepares another drink.

***

RAM.

Louis hears the neighbors’ door swing shut. Unlike the pleasant jingling that ensues every time the door at the pub is opened; the doors to his apartment- and all apartments in his building- they simply thwack shut. The kind of nerve rattling sound, with the heavy wood dragging for a few seconds and WHAM it shuts straightaway.

Louis shouldn’t even be observing any of this.

Neither should he be lying face first on his disgusting, smelly sofa (which he barely remembers ever cleaning) with hands that smell of smoke and alcohol and his entire flat giving off a belchy, moist odor- at 4 am.

It’s all so pathetic.

He risks closing his heavy eyes for a few seconds. But _God-_ it’s a huge risk, because it’s far too quiet and it’s so easy to get approached now-

“Truly a disastrous attempt, with a very amateur Louis Tomlinson at the forefront, showing exactly what-“

No, fuck- _no_.

They’re playing again- the goddamn voices. Over and over, sharp words that claw painfully at the back of his mind, voices that whisper to him every sleepless night. Voices that resemble daggers and bring memories of hurt, of longing, of _regret_.

That’s the absolute worst though, isn’t it? Regret.

“Honestly? Louis barely tried here. There’s no way something as disappointing-”

_God_.

Louis rolls right off the sofa, not sparing a single second further. His body aches and muscles protest but there’s no way he’s staying there, his thoughts are going to eat him alive at this rate.

The dusty, moth eaten curtains ripple softly as moonlight pours in through the small windows. Louis glances outside just once, noticing how the moon twinkles and gazes at him with a pitiful expression. It is pitiful for sure; the moon has never been much of a companion through long, lonely nights. It’s always just there, always just…. Watching. Quietly.

It’s a peculiar thing actually, the moon. Louis almost feels some unnerving connection there, with the moon showing some resemblance with his own vision of the world around him. Watching. They’re both right there, pale and gloomy and eagerly watching.

Louis slowly drags himself forward and grabs for the jug of water placed next to his dusty television (a purchase he will never regret. Ever. It’s one hell of a good companion- and probably his only one.)

It’s something he is very much aware of though. No number of hours of blindly watching television or distracting himself with work or getting through sleepless nights with glasses of water and seldom alcohol can prevent that realization from setting in. It always finds a way back, every night.

He _is_ lonely- friendless, even. His conscience ensures to remind him of that every single day in a disastrously lovely way that includes long sleepless nights and heavy exhausted eyes.

It’s tedious. All of it.

Something ruffles in the periphery, amidst all the darkness and Louis’ eyes immediately snap towards it- but oh.

As he blinks, dull, melancholic blue hues dip through the air. That’s the color of sadness right? Blue and heavy colors. That’s how Louis associates it though… Because that’s how his vision blurs, that’s how the air thickens and moistens with dark blues when plain, heavy sadness sets into his bones.

The thin, glossy paper ruffles again, catching Louis’ sad, droopy gaze as he holds the jug with shaky hands and rips his gaze away. It’s all stress inducing- the thoughts, the memories, the scars. That goddamn glossy paper.

It has stayed untouched for months and Louis feels the constant, burning temptation to grab it from underneath that floral painted vase and throw it into the bin or better- burn it with a lighter or something. It’d be very relieving, like an end to all the pent up emotions and bruises, an end to that wretched sight- a silent, mocking reminder of all the scars that still hurt.

But he doesn’t. He tries every night. He watches it under that vase every night, coated in dust and grime and ruffling ever so slightly every few seconds- but he refuses to touch it. Ever.

Slowly, Louis makes his way to his tiny bedroom- away from that miserable sight, from all the sullenness the living room tends to put him into. He should clean it sometime, maybe do more than just vacuuming the place once in a while. Maybe his apartment would have some sort of life to it then.

He knows he won’t ever do it though. It’s a wonderful, lonely pigsty he lives in with all his loud thoughts and sad breathing.

The sun won’t ever shine here.

It hasn’t for over a year anyways.

***

“May I have some water please?”

Louis immediately spins around, his head swimming with the movement before he locks gazes with… Stranger. The curly headed one.

It’s an oddly pleasing sight.

“Sure. What kind of water?” Louis clicks his tongue, leaning forward on the counter, elbows pressing into the coolness and watching Stranger blink shyly. A fawn. “What kind of water? Tap water, Sparkling water, lime water, bottled water or that gut wrenching flavored water my manager decided to include on the menu yesterday?”

Oh how wonderful. There’s round one of sleep deprivation showing all its spectacular effects in the form of mindless blabber.

_Embarrassing_.

Stranger appeared to be on the edge of breathlessness by the time Louis was done with his disastrous, impulsive word vomit. At least he isn’t being weird about it. A good natured fawn.

It’s a pretty sight, bathed in a gentle sort of amusement as Stranger shifts slightly and speaks, “I’ll take that uh.. Gut wrenching flavored water that your manager placed on the menu yesterday.” He finishes with a smirk and a soft, mischievous bend to his mouth.

Heh.

Oh wow.

“Uh, the stock hasn’t come yet. Didn’t think you’d actually ask for it.” Louis replies with a sudden laugh, an unforeseen amount of bashfulness lathering his words. The stock really hadn’t arrived yet, and the only reason he’d even mentioned the flavored water was to draw a reaction out of Stranger- And now that he actually succeeded he’s being bashful about it.

_Bashful_.

It’s surprising because he is anything but bashful.

Stan would definitely stare at him with an incredulous expression for an hour straight and laugh horrendously into his face if he ever saw this… Whatever ‘this’ even is.

“Okay.” Stranger laughs, his morbid voice looming over the slow hum of the pub. “A lemonade will do in that case.” He says with a smile, two crescents making a rather gorgeous appearance on either cheek.

He’s like a human puppy. An oddly attractive one.

With dimples and curls which is… Okay.

“Right-O” Louis pops the ‘O’ on his tongue, ignoring the way his chest tightens and flutters slightly as he goes to take out a glass and his shaker. It’s a large bulky thing that Stan had thrown his way on the first day of work itself with a “build some muscles, you’ll need your biceps for all this work.”

Louis had half considered quitting the same day. But, oh well.

Bits of ice tumble down the shaker, onto Louis’ cold hands. It roots him to reality a bit.

“It’s a lot calmer today. You don’t seem that worked up.” Stranger drawls out, large green eyes scanning the few crowds packed within the pub, all draped in smoke and alcoholic breaths. Well, that’s how it perpetually is.

But- _what_?

“Worked up?” Louis questions, raising an amused eyebrow and determinedly avoiding the bright gaze on him. Ice, Lemon, mint, yes. Concentrate. “I seem worked up to you?” he doesn’t bother sounding casual at all, subsequently a cold note of accusation drips out of words. It’s… He’s too tired. Just far too tired to be nice.

But Stranger seems least bothered as he rocks slightly, sunshine still curving the edges of his mouth, “Yeah, last night? It was a lot noisier in here and you seemed quite stressed. It’s way more peaceful now. Still lots of nice, cold air and smoke though.”

It’s all said in one breath and- God, what the hell is he even _saying_?

Louis glances at him, hoping the amused and borderline horrified look on his face dulls down slightly, “It’s Monday so fewer people, lesser work.”

“Oh is it Monday? That would make sense then.”

Louis noisily opens the cold shaker in his hand, the sound abruptly filling the space before he pours the drink into a single glass. Making icy flavored drinks is far easier than conversing with pretty boys, he decides.

“There you go.” Louis slides the glass forward, his tone falling monotonously. He watches with bored, sleepy eyes as Stranger grabs the glass in his big palms and immediately lifts it to his lips.

The glass bangs down shakily on the table within seconds.

“Wow- okay um, what is this?” Stranger stutters out, his lips shiny and curved into a grimace. He looks more flustered than anything.

“Lemonade?” Louis asks, slightly apprehensive. “Did I mess up? Add too much of something?”

“Nah, it’s just… Is it- “ Stranger picks up the glass again, his hands shaking slightly as he takes a long, jittery sip, “ _ _-Strawberry__?”

What.

“Yeah, I normally add some strawberry juice. Something wrong there?” Louis genuinely asks.

“Not _wrong_. Just unexpected, since I’m not used to it tasting so… Punched?” Stranger continues, rolling the glass across the flat of his palm.

It’s almost like _he's_ apologizing for something. The flushed tone to his voice gives it away- even though Louis has no idea what for.

“O-kay. It’s just how we make it here.” Louis taps his foot absent-mindedly, “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want it.” He distantly hears the pub door jingle open. More people then. Ugh.

“No, I like it. I do.” Stranger nods sincerely, he slowly bends now and lifts the book on his lap to place it on the counter instead- and there. Right there. Louis catches the glint.

_Harry_.

It’s written in golden threads, embroidered into the leather cover and proving to be a very stunning display. Louis almost physically restrains himself from touching it; which…. It’s an irrational wish. So he leaves it to that.

But Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry. What a cute name.

And what a bizarre boy.

“Harry.” Louis mutters mostly to himself, eyes skimming the gold letterings; but Harry must have caught his words because he immediately glances up, eyes wide and almost… nervous? Louis has had a long day, he’s allowed to at least imagine stuff. So.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, is there anything else you need?” Louis rasps out, teetering on the edge of flustered- which no. Anything but that. “ _Sir_.” He meekly adds.

“I’m good, thanks. I’ll pay for the drink and get back to work I guess.” Stranger- _Harry_ says around a small smile. He seems like the kind of guy who smiles no matter what the actual emotion is- it’s genuine, nervous, polite, small; but it’s still there, lightening the air particles a bit. Making Louis feel exaggeratedly giddy.

He probably should sneak a nap in or something. Stan would go feral and it would all make for a very entertaining display. Louis still feels slight temptation just at the thought.

“Is everyone here always this way?” Harry suddenly pops up with a question as he brings out a two pound note, held between large, ringed fingers. Emerald and Topaz, ooh. So he must be some fancy, rich kid searching for a distraction out here- in some cold smoky pub in the suburbs of Nottingham. He doesn’t exactly seem too _rebellious_ as such but well- to be fair, Louis just met the guy.

“This way?” Louis feels a rough laugh circle his lips as he takes the notes in his hand, hyper aware of how bright the gems on Harry’s fingers shine. It’s weirdly jarring. “What does _this way_ mean? Constantly buzzing and shadowy?”

Shadowy, yes. It’s one of the many ways Louis likes to describe the pub. There’s always shadows, dancing on the floors, the ceilings, near all the wooden tables, around feet, torsos and melting into Louis’ bones sometimes. The dull, spilling shadows tend to make the air heavier, and Louis- well, he’s used to it, but it does get slightly overwhelming sometimes. Like a constant watchful presence.

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve never really been to this part of the town-” Harry begins, words dotted with amusement, but Louis blurts out before he can stop himself.

“It’s not a very easily accessible place.” Louis finds himself saying, for no particular reason, “Not very noticeable at all, since it’s kind of just-” he makes a disastrous attempt at waving his hands to gesture, “-hidden I guess. Amongst all the alleys and bylanes at least.”

Harry stares at him for a few seconds too long, as though he were processing all the new information Louis had rather haphazardly bestowed on him. He then purses his lips together, understanding looming behind his irises, “It isn’t easily accessible at _all_. I sort of stumbled into it myself a few days ago- uh, it’s easy to lose your way around here.”

There’s a small punch of mild embarrassment there and Louis can’t help but smirk to himself as he watches Harry shift uneasily. What an awkward little boy.

It’s weird though- the conversation. He isn’t used to customers being this… Forward. Friendliness is far, far away. It’s normally just strangers slurring into Louis’ face, asking for drinks or lighters with dull eyes and curt expressions, clearly enunciating their disinterest in anything beyond their needs; before heading back to their groups or individual work. It’s all very customary, and anything beyond that is slightly more tedious for Louis to grapple with.

It’s just one conversation though. No big deal, Louis just has to entertain a few curious questions and bright, genuine gazes and they’re done for good. Right?

Right.

“Something wrong?” Harry’s apprehensive voice cuts through as Louis realizes he hasn’t spoken at all for far too long, which- okay, _awkward_. The paper notes still lie loosely between his fingers and yes. Billing, yes. He’s yet to do the billing.

A nap would do now, definitely.

“Sorry no, not at all. It is easy to get lost, yeah. Plus the gates around here tend to create an illusion that you’re separated from the actual city.” Louis hastily prepares the bill, mind whirring into motion. It’s sluggish and slow, but that’s the best he can do.

“Gates?” Harry scoffs out, mild amusement coloring his words, “Like, the colony gates? Around the locality?”

“Yeah, that’s how it looks. They sort of encircle the entire suburb.” Louis explains, as he taps out on the bright screen, marring his vision with spots. “But it tends to create an illusion sometimes. There are tons of housing facilities and most of the basic facilities within the gates, so yeah.. It’s cut off from the actual city in a way.”.

“It’s like some dystopian novel.” Harry raises his eyebrows, appearing borderline giddy with everything Louis had just said. Poor boy, he must be very gullible with all the smiling and wide eyes- he looks very pink and young too, to top that.

“Yeah uh- what’s the name on the bill?” Louis side tracks a bit, the screen glaring up at him as glances towards Harry’s pouting, thoughtful expression. His rich parents probably send him to diligence classes or something. Hah. Okay then, Louis might just be running a tad too fast with this.

“Harry.” Harry answers, earnest.

“That’s all?” Louis questions, “Just Harry?”

“Yeah. Will that be a problem? That’s how I like to keep things normally, like short and concise. Just Harry.” Harry chatters, finishing with a lopsided sort of grin that Louis can’t help but stare at for a while. So much smiling.

“Okay then, Just Harry.” Louis breathes out, sounding unexpectedly exasperated, but it still brings out a good natured laugh from Harry, so he isn’t complaining.

“Proper novel-ish setting y’all have got around here. I like it.” Harry offhandedly says as Louis stretches an arm to hand him the bill. _Just Harry_. It’s slightly endearing.

“Oh yeah, it starts off as some shadowy mystery novel setting with all our customers coming in with cigarettes and coats, but after that..” Louis sighs, absently glancing at the buzzing groups of people clustered at their respective tables. Voices all reduced to hums. Their hands hold cigars and grubby ash, “…After that it’s routine I guess. It’s still pretty quiet and everyone stays to themselves so, yeah.”

Yeah. He isn’t going to mention how much he hates it though, isn’t selfish enough to fill the conversation with unnecessary bitterness.

Harry hums a noncommittal response, gaze dropping from Louis' face as he brings his glass to his lips and takes a small sip. Thoughtful. “I like the disconnect, from the city that is.”

That sort of… Hits home. Somewhere deep beneath Louis’ chest, but he quickly pushes it away by inhaling sharply, letting the pungent smell of stale beers and clean aftershave (from Harry probably) take over the sludge of emotions that sweep past.

“Probably.” Louis replies, covertly, _selfishly_ hoping to drop the conversation there. There are more customers making their way in anyway, so he has an excuse in hand.

Thankfully, the conversation does drop and Harry’s keenly chattersome mouth reduces to a thin curve as he silently acknowledges Louis and leans away, knees propped up and taking his book back on his lap. Back to work then, yeah. Louis should go too.

Good talk. New and unexpected and fucking strange- but okay.

“Louis, oi!” Stans’ rough, irritated voice clips in just in time for the silence to not drag too long. He has his arms bent on a rag on the table, expression dark as he scrubs the granite. Louis’ eyes immediately reach to where Stans’ spare, outstretched hand is pointing. Customers, customers, of course. Men waving impatiently to be served; with unreadable expressions, leaning across their tables and passing around the few porcelain plates, all grim and serious. Unapproachable, almost. It’s such a contrast to Harry though, all polite and friendly, just a few feet apart, head ducked and eyes on his book, the air lightening around him.

Not rude and hostile like.. well, potentially every other person in the room.

Either way Louis has a job. And that requires him to cater to everyone, likes and dislikes apart. He’s sort of extreme on those, specific and picky and coming across as mildly annoying to the rest of the world because others fit in- they toil and move on despite things being hard, whereas Louis just fills himself with all the wrong feelings, all the bluest, darkest shades the world has to offer.

“Louis.”

Oh yeah. A job.

“I’m getting to them.” Louis rubs his cold palms together, steadying his breathing to a low, mellow drip before he absently glances to Harry’s quiet figure just once and makes his way to the snappy, grumbly men with top hats and coats, seating in a group and impatiently waving.

Right. So.

Louis still has to do this. Another long, cold, starlit night amongst many.

***

The Gates.

Louis positions his foot carefully, precarious over the rough jut of cement his foot is positioned on as he glances at the gates. A cold, biting rush of wind sweeps past and he immediately digs his hand deeper into the pockets of his tattered windbreaker. November is announcing it’s approach then- Louis isn’t looking forward to it. His flat still doesn’t have a heater installed and that’s… It’s a problem for another day.

“Take me back to the night we met….” Louis hums nonchalantly, bending forward to touch the chilling iron rods of the gate with shaky fingers. He slowly, rather bravely glances up and looks through the rods, at the city lights stretching out in front of him, right there- beyond the gate, all bright orange and casting long, lovely shadows on the pavements. It knocks his breath a bit, but nevertheless, he leans forward, noticing the way the horizon flickers slightly, the night sky blending in with the cold, orange-yellow shades, blending in with the city.

The _actual_ city.

‘Nottingham Communitas’ is engraved into the perpetually unlocked padlock, the touch cold and staggering on Louis' palm as he holds it. The gate is never completely closed or locked, as had been decided by the old couple that lives in the apartment two floors below Louis’ apartment. Just an old man and his wife who were apparently the first people to live within the Communitas- the first people to decide on creating a gated living facility within the city. Years and years ago of course, way before Louis might’ve even been born… And that, _that_ is a funny thought. Amusing, almost.

He feels like he has been here forever, and yet it’s a mere slice of how long the Communitas has actually existed.

But their idea hadn’t stayed stagnant too long; with bachelors, students, job seekers all slowly moving in to be part of the Communitas which is now equipped with all basic amenities, basic services, and probably everything apart from the hospital and police station- all of it confined within the gates.

But that’s just how _Louis_ looks at it though. That’s how it makes _him_ feel.. Secluded, disconnected, almost detached from real life. Chaotic city life.

The shadows bend and dance against his irises as he lets go of the lock and takes a step back, drawing in a slow, shaky breath. Few bright spots of light from within houses; family homes, bungalows probably, flicker in the distance, blinking and reflecting the starry night sky. Light. So, so much light. Activity too probably, a stark contrast to the quiet dull silence that stretches behind Louis.

_Nottingham Communitas_.

He drops his hand completely and turns away, momentarily blinded by the sudden darkness that presses in- and this is familiar. A distant car honks, tires skidding on gravel beyond the iron gates and Louis isn’t tempted to even throw a glance at the source.

Because see, he hasn’t stepped out of those gates in twelve months.

***

“Do y’all lack staff?” Harry’s bright words sail through the evening lull, instantly colliding with Louis' sluggish state of mind.

Okay then.

“What do _you_ think?” Louis manages to string out a coherent sentence, sounding slightly exasperated. Well, he sort of is.

Harry quirks his head to the side before sweeping gentle, inquisitive eyes across their quiet surroundings, across the dull murmur filling the air. There aren’t too many people today and Louis lets himself breathe a bit, stretching his legs and slowly, riskily plonking himself down on a chair behind the counter. Stan isn’t seen anywhere within his range of vision- probably scrubbing the dishes or something- but nevertheless, it’s quieter, calmer and Louis… he lets himself settle.

But Harry’s talking now. Always is, somehow.

“Yeah, to be honest. Just two people managing the whole place is chaotic.” Harry blinks, genuinely almost… Concerned. Louis scoffs to himself, because he’s tired and everything feels entirely too absurd.

Harry’s literal presence seems absurd. He shouldn’t even be here.

“Tell my manager that.” Louis pulls the sentence out of his mouth, propping his arms on the counter and placing his heavy head on it, avoiding Harry’s bright gaze on him. It’s like an intense spotlight and really… Louis isn’t looking for anyone’s attention right now. He can sulk by himself. “He isn’t spending a penny more. Ever.”

“I’m sorry, that’s pretty harsh. I can’t imagine.” Harry immediately replies, words full of sincere sympathy and _wow_. What is even going on?

“I didn’t expect to see you again, to be honest.” Louis breathes out, a long sigh making its way with the words. He doesn’t mean to sound exasperated as such, Harry will probably think he means it in a dismissive way or something- but his voice and body is a traitor so of course there’s no compliance.

“You didn’t? Uh-” Harry starts, clearly startled.

And honestly? What is the boy even expected to say?

“I didn’t mean it that way. Just… The same faces don’t normally come around regularly.” Louis gives in, far too honest. There’s no real loss here though, isn’t it? Harry’s being all chirpy and chatty with that pretty head of his, all bright green eyes clashing with the shadowy surroundings and everything; so Louis might just make an effort. His brain feels like lead and Harry’s words feel like waves on a silent ocean, so Louis might as well let them brush past the sand.

“Different sets of people every day, noone’s ever really a regular here.” Louis explains further, “It’s normally a lot of traders crossing the gates to bring in supplies and stuff, seeking some quiet in here after work. Actual city life is outside, so like… This place isn’t a common attraction at all. Familiar faces are seen only once or twice.”

He slowly lifts his head up to look at Harry’s open, curious gaze for the first time since the boy has walked in exactly at 8 pm, clad in black skinny jeans and a large black coat, all tall and gentle, his large book in hand. A literal clash- a polite, happy gaze amongst the sea of dark, obscured faces.

“Oh.” Harry lets the world fall, small and brittle, “Moody setting, dim lighting, stale beer- they have a tendency to attract bored, uninspired people like me I guess.”

“ _Uninspired_?” Louis raises an eyebrow, propping his elbow up and resting his rough chin on it. He should probably shave, he’s gonna become a proper, disgruntled caveman at this rate. The red eyes and bags under don’t help either.

But wait- _Harry_ needs inspiration? A rich, carefree, happy kid like him with far more enthusiasm than Louis’ body last remembers possessing and okay- maybe a lot of these assumptions are only a part of his head, but even then. What inspiration is he talking about?

“What are you? Like, a poet or writer or something?” Louis tilts his head, an incredulous tilt to his lips as he relishes the way Harry gets slightly nervous at the question. It’s cute, sort of. All pink and shy and very fawn-like.

“I mean.. I do like to like… _draw_?” Harry meekly offers, sounding almost embarrassed by the prospect.

Yeah. Of course he draws. With his large fingers, all decked with precious stones that glint every light particle in the room- he’s probably just made to draw. One of those inborn skills maybe, the kind that kids grow up with inbuilt in them and it flourishes wonderfully and evolves and retains well; and everyone simply lives happily ever after.

It’s the lack of sleep probably. Louis feels fidgety, itchy and very grumpy.

“Hm. I guessed so.” Louis shoots a quick glance towards the book plonked on the table, _Harry_ glinting up to him in a shiny, neatly done letter. He half thinks of advising Harry not to keep his precious little entity on something as messy and disgusting as their unwashed countertops (no amount of washing can make Louis trust their cleanliness) but he doesn’t bother voicing it. Harry probably checked himself before placing it. A rich, polite, attractive artist searching for inspiration in the dark alleyways and pubs of Nottingham. Hm, sounds about right.

“Yeah, but I’m not like a professional or anything. ‘Tis just a hobby.” Harry continues, a soft gaze on Louis’ mellow, neutral one. He seems slightly eager to explain it properly. “I don’t like… Have a career out of it or anything.”

“Yeah?” Louis clips out, abrupt forwardness seizing his tone “You seem very young though.” He pushes a hand through his hair, rubbing his eyes along the way, “Like..”

“Yeah no, um. Still in University.”

Oh.

A university student then. With a part time interest in drawing in dark pubs and chatting up warmly to their ragged, bitter bartenders. Interesting.

“Still a kid then.” Louis says, all bored and lazy with his words. _Why_ is Harry still talking to him? Since when did Louis become approachable enough for young, rich blokes to chat up to him? _Since when_?

“Not exactly, but… yeah.” Harry trails off, gaze dropping from Louis' face and a small level of moroseness settling there. Bubbles of disappointment and insecurity lap the surface and fuck- okay, Louis really doesn’t want to see that.

“Get done with your drawing then, capture every light particle and pretty sight in existence with that pencil of yours.” Louis offhandedly says, motioning towards the pencil sandwiched between the pages of the book, “I don’t wanna hold you back.”

Harry must have obviously caught the dismissive tone between the words, because his jaw carefully shuts and his lips form a thin line, slightly defensive. The hurt and insecurity does hastily rush to the surface of his large, wondrous eyes, but Louis pulls his gaze away before he feels any sort of guilt. He doesn’t want to let himself _feel_ , really. His conscience does scream, loud and fierce but he pulls away, shies away from it.

He’s a bad person. Yeah, he definitely is. Harry was being _nice_ , all pretty and chatty and here, and he let his insecurities spring up, let his constant bitterness and exhaustion drip right in and take over, and really-

“You should ask your manager for a leave, you probably need it.” Harry’s voice cuts through, controlled and monotonous.

Ah.

Well hello, here comes the unexpected sass. The plot twist, almost? Louis finds his lips turn up at the corners, amusement settling in. Well, well, well.

“I mean, you’re not wrong.” Louis laughs half way through the sentence, leaning in involuntarily to let his fingertips brush the counter, “Didn’t expect something like that from you though.” He looks down, a tad sheepish.

“Something like that? I’m genuinely saying it, you _should_ ask for some time off work.” Harry bites back, an edge of pushiness settling round the contours. The sass has dwindled down slightly though and Louis doesn’t quite know how to deal with this kid and all his chatty, curious nature. Every word is beginning to startle him.

It’s his cue to leave.

So Louis slowly lifts himself off the stool, his brain instantly growing sluggish with the movement. His head might be levitating at this rate, the feeling a person gets before skydiving or something (not that he knows what that feels like, but- well.). He flashes a smooth, diplomatic smile to Harry’s grim face, faintly aware of the door jingling noisily, bringing in a gust of cold air which echoes through the awkward abyss of silence between them before he speaks, “I appreciate that, I really do. But… Yeah, got places to go, things to do Harry.”

He turns away and doesn’t miss the way Harry’s entire face falls to bits.

***

“Mr. Norris?” Louis calls out, his worn out sneaker immediately hitting cement as he wanders through the darkness, crystalline moonlight spilling to his feet, “Sir?”

The rattly gate jingles through the coolness as Louis huffs noisily before slowing down his pace and jogging towards the old man standing there, turned towards him with an oddly baffled expression. Louis really doesn’t expect any less.

“Tomlinson, is it?” Mr. Norris asks, clad in a large, hand woven sweater. The city stretches behind him, dotted in orange, beyond the gates.

Louis stills himself, physically controlling every urge to spontaneously blabber as he nods, hands deep in his windbreaker, “Yeah, Louis Tomlinson. I don’t really wanna bother you but- “

“You aren’t son.” Mr. Norris immediately interjects, shifting his feet on the broken cement as he smiles kindly.

The sky should implode into rainbows and glitter now, really. They should drench Louis’ cold, soulless body and worship him with all the kindness he’s undeserving of. Far too many nice words for today.

“Yeah, uhm, so I wanted to ask you about the Communitas actually.” Louis stalks forward, urging his strangely jackrabbiting heart to stay calm.

Mr. Norris immediately raises an amused eyebrow, moonlight emphasizing all the wrinkles and marks on his sagging skin, “What about it?”

“So y’know, I was just thinking about like, how it started off forty years ago and-“

“Forty three years.” Mr. Norris immediately corrects, smug and fiercely gloating.

“Right.” Louis hurries on, the pushing desire to get to bed clinging to his bones, urging him to continue, “So I was just thinking…. how exactly did it start off? The whole community is cut off from the city, enclosed within the gates and I _have_ heard a lot of the background before, but the concept is slightly uhh…” He trails off, foot awkwardly positioned on the road, scratching against the cement.

What was his point again?

“It started off as an idea I had proposed on the dinner table to my wife actually.” Mr. Norris explains, slow and earnest with his words. A heavy sense of nostalgia immediately washes over, wringing through the air and rendering Louis breathless. The night is gorgeous.

“A separate locality within the large, chaotic city. Somewhere to breathe, somewhere apart from the noise but still within arm’s length. Still reachable. It was a plan.”

Arm’s length, yeah. Totally. It’s all right fucking _there_ , beyond the steel rods, lights flashing and air mystifying, rude and mocking.

Yet, it feels world’s away from Louis’ reach, barely touching his fingertips.

“So that’s all really. Loans were set up, discussions ensued and the mayor agreed to my proposal. So we simply erected the gates, circling around the comparatively deserted part of the city and grew our own little community from within.” Mr. Norris smiles wide, digging his small, shriveled hands into the pockets of his sweater. He looks so proud, so content and for once, Louis irrationally wonders what it would take for _him_ to ever feel that kind of satisfaction- what it would take for him to smile wide and actually feel _proud_ of something. For once.

Louis looks away, twisting his hands within the fabric of his red and blue windbreaker; the one he wears every single day, swiping it off his nightstand and throwing it on every day before heading to work. It’s tattered and itches his fingers as he squeezes them tight, unexpected emotion bubbling to the surface as he speaks, “It was… Meant to keep the city within arm’s length? It isn’t supposed to make one feel isolated?” The words fall to the floor, weak and broken.

“Not at all!” Mr. Norris frowns, appearing very confused by the mere prospect.

_Confused_. Ha.

Of course he’s confused.

“I’m sorry if you ever felt that way Louis. The Communitas has always been home to me, but that does not mean I’m intimidated by the city. That’s where actual life belongs, where society develops, I have no qualms in taking acceptance of that.”

_‘That does not mean I’m intimidated by the city.’_

The words gnaw at Louis, nip and tear at the last few bits of defense he clings onto every single day. It isn’t fair but it does plonk down, creating space for itself within the misty air, snipping at Louis’ insides.

He is far more than just intimidated though.. The city will… It’s harsh and there’s far too much to hurt him out there. Far too much that has already ripped him apart.

He should probably just leave. No point in waiting for impending doom to wash over at this pace.

“Right.” Louis manages to choke out through what feels like a chainsaw round his throat, “Thank you for er- everything. Have a goodnight sir.”

He waits for a few seconds, his duffel bag hanging awkwardly off one hunched shoulder, sneakers scratchy at his toes as a gust of cold air rushes past, echoing through the buildings and vegetation surrounding them. Louis pulls his windbreaker closer, discomfort clear on his face before Mr. Norris finally speaks, “It _is_ ruthless beyond these iron bars Louis.” A pale discomforting tone washes over. Louis squirms. “But the Communitas can never be your refuge. You’re defeating it’s purpose that way.”

Louis finds himself nodding before he realizes, the pressing need to end the conversation crawling down his cold skin as mutters a quick, ‘Yeah, thanks.” Unable to look at Mr. Norris’ sad, pitiful expression. Adamancy comes quick with agitation and he lets it take over.

“Goodnight sir.” Louis calls out, stumbling backwards. _Get away, Get away, Get away_ runs through his mind in circles as he slowly disappears into the darkness that gladly swallows him whole.

***

Once again the paper ruffles.

Louis barely creaks one heavy eyelid open this time, face smushed into the couch, smarting limbs spread across the length. The world is probably imploding beyond the cold glass windows- it feels so.

“Mmrgh.” Louis groans, watching the soft breeze pull past, across the cold, forbidding living room. Moonlight spills in, reflecting on the glossy paper and it ruffles. Again and again and again.

_“Truly a disastrous attempt-“_

Louis bites the voices down, forces it down his throat and slams his eyelids shut.

He can’t. It physically _hurts_.

So he puts himself to sleep because the walls begin closing in, mocking him, looking down and laughing at his face. Because the world feels cruel even now and like every night before, he wishes he had the strength to face it.

He doesn’t though, and that’s what makes all the difference.

***

Louis storms into work the next day.

It’s like the world around has quickened it’s pace, like it’s whispering into Louis’ ears and pushing him forward. Because he doesn’t sit down for once throughout the next eight hours that follow. It’s jarring and slightly throws him off balance but there’s more to it, because right there, beneath the surface of the strenuous workday, there’s frustration and indignance frothing to the top. He hadn’t slept at all last night, see.

He’s practically steaming off of the top of his head as he pushes drinks across tables, scrubs counters with soap and water, mops the floor as beers are spilled, taps down hard on the cash register, bill after bill, glass after glass, all through the evening- done with a blank, cold gaze. There’s nothing there to see on the surface because Louis stifles it all down, he lets himself feel the grime on his hands instead, the ash on the trays, the heat that builds up down his back, the beer stains that leave impressions and really- that’s the best he can do. He’s practically fuming and forcing it all down.

Harry walks in at exactly 7 pm and Louis immediately feels something crash within his insides. Guilt, probably. It’s a cold, icy feeling.

Because he isn’t entertaining Harry’s chattiness today, absolutely not. Not when he’s half expecting himself to burst into hot, embarrassed tears if he’s forced to utter even a single word by that bright, lovely boy.

That’s literally what the boy is. Lovely.

It’s awe inducing as Louis shuffles past tables, his soles sticky on the wood, hands filled with empty mugs and plates, and there- Harry will throw a curious, concerned glance his way. Just, literally fling it in his direction and force it to settle into Louis’ skin. Embed into his pores. What’s concerning is how it doesn’t exactly feel invasive though.. Louis doesn’t feel his skin crawl with all the glances and gazes settled on him. Fucking _thrown_ at him.

Harry just doesn’t make it creepy at all. And that’s really, really concerning because Louis has no idea how to receive it.

Stan calls him over at one point, as Louis is busy paying far more attention than necessary to a particular table, scrubbing off all the non-existent grease, per say.

He’d rather do that than stay still for a single second or watch Harry awkwardly draw into his book, knees all neatly propped, pencil scratching quietly, face covered in shadows and curls.

Louis shouldn’t even be watching. Clean, scrub, serve, avoidallthoughts, yes.

“Bring that gentleman a glass.” Stan practically pulls Louis away from the table, hands fastened on Louis’ elbows and pointing towards… Well. Harry. “Did he ask for it?’ Louis grumbles under his breath, providing some very unnerving resemblance to a child being asked to come home from the playground.

Stan glares under the dim lighting (he’s practically always glaring, what’s new.) as he beckons Louis forward, “He looks like some rich bloke, get some tips out of him and we can split it.”

Oh. So this is what it’s about.

Leave it to Stan to think of something like that.

“Ayo, what will Mr. Manager have to say about that huh?” Louis laughs mostly to himself just as the door jingles in the periphery.

_People_. More of them. The mere thought of serving more straight faced, ashy men itches Louis skin.

“Don’t act like a bloody saint.” Stan hisses out, watching Louis squirm before swiftly turning away, towards the new set of customers who’ve already started with their demands.

Lighters, glasses, bowls are scattered on wooden tops, and Louis senses the beginning of a headache.

So. Okay. Harry.

Murmurs grow all around Louis, arising from beyond the dark shadows and greasy spiderweb filled crevices as he slowly makes his way to Harry’s spot. Long, skinny jeans clad legs squashed behind the counter, tresses falling lopsidedly on each side of his calm, concentrated face.

Drawing, yes. He’s drawing. A rich, pretty uni bloke with varying hobbies and bright smiles. The thought makes something flutter in Louis’ belly.

He quickly slides behind the counter, a cold arm swiping past the long glasses stacked on the table behind him as he beckons towards Harry’s silent, unassuming figure. The boy looks like a silhouette amidst all the shadows. He’s pretty good at attracting attention without meaning to, and that’s something Louis had picked on pretty early on. His demeanor can be slumped and sagging and yet he’ll draw _at least_ a few glances- with absolutely no word being uttered out of his delicate mouth. Dainty little thing.

Louis brushes forward and awkwardly grabs a glass from off the cabinet, shaky hands run down the sides as he picks up a clean towel and begins… He doesn’t actually know what he’s doing. Cleaning a clean glass? Absolutely. Fucking brilliant.

Harry doesn’t look up immediately, he keeps his head low and covered in darkness and curls as he tilts his head to the side occasionally, pencil scratching between his fingers, and maybe- just maybe, Louis even catches a tiny flick of his tongue from the side of his mouth. It’s slightly odd, but sorta suits the boy and his daintiness.

It’s when Louis is staring down very hard at the squeaky clean glass in his hands, awkwardly trying to avoid all of Stans’ unimpressed glares; that Harry slowly, amusedly lifts his head up. All wide eyes and parted lips.

Louis half contemplates digging a hole through the earth.

This could either be fun or disastrous.

Harry watches him with a highly controlled expression, somewhere between surprised and highly entertained. The dimples threaten to surface on either cheek as he tries very hard not to smile, for what could have been minutes, hours or even complete days, really. Louis just holds his glass, silently praying and awkwardly watching the many transitions of the face before him.

And then the grin splits through.

Harry is practically reeling, appearing maddeningly _gladdened_ as he bites down on a lip and watches Louis sway on the spot, glass in his hand.

“One of the bad days, I know.” Harry speaks very unexpectedly and Louis almost throws his glass down. It’ll shatter to tiny shards and pieces then and perfectly emulate exactly what Louis’ insides feel like. But what catches him is that tone of… bubbly mocking marring the edges. Literal disdain, like Harry’s highly entertained by the situation.

Oh wow. So Louis Tomlinson is being ridiculed by a kid.

A _customer_.

Somehow, the latter proves to be more concerning.

They simply watch each other for a few seconds, unanswered questions and silent breathing resonating through the hazy air between them as crockery and glasses clink in the peripherals. Harry looks highly amused, his eyebrows perched up as he absently taps his knee, keenly watching Louis’ emotions fall to their death. Silence ensues.

“Uh, so anyways, I think I’ll have that strawberry lemonade you made yesterday.” Harry finally breaks the silence, lifting his book from his lap and thumping it on the countertop as he looks up expectantly. Green eyes against grey. It’s blinding.

“Hm.” Louis nods, highly uncertain of what he is to say. There is no way in hell that he can actually, directly ask Harry for tips, the mere _thought_ instills an irrational fear. It’s funny because he’d rather forwardly ask some grumpy stranger in a thick moustache than work up even half that confidence to ask Harry that.

“Is it like, No Talk Wednesday or something?” Harry suddenly cuts in, his words very feathery through the heavy veil of intense thought settled on Louis’ brain.

No Talk Wednesday.

_No Talk Wednesday._

Louis has to repeat it at least a few times in his head before a soft laugh escapes his lips, eyes fixed on the box of ice in front of him, “I’m not sure, is it?”

Harry is quick to respond as Louis slowly decants the ice into his glass, “From the looks of it, probably yeah.” There’s a note of seriousness there and Louis breathes out another exasperated chuckle.

“What did you say earlier?” Louis looks up for a second, catching the glint in Harry’s eyes before going back to decanting his ingredients.

“Earlier, what?”

“One of the bad days?” Louis prompts.

“Uh- _oh_.” Harry’s lips immediately snap shut, sudden confusion blasting its way to the surface, “Don’t tell me. It _is_ one of the bad days then? I was just, um.. Second guessing from the looks of it.”

Louis swallows a bunch of sarcastic replies that make a sudden appearance on the tip of his tongue as he stirs the strawberry juice into the glass. Pink and white swirls his vision. “You notice a hell lot, don’t you?” He speaks in a low voice. The buzzing all around him has in fact slowed down, everything doesn’t feel as fast paced anymore.

“Only whatever interests me.”

Bang.

Louis’ gaze immediately snaps upwards.

Harry continues to stare, as if he hadn’t just offhandedly smacked Louis with a subtly flirtatious response. As if Louis isn’t just watching him with the most horrified expression his face could twist itself into.

Horrified as well as jittery. Very, _very_ jittery.

The door jingles open, a strong gust of wind sailing in with it and immediately springing goosebumps all over Louis’ cold arms. Or maybe it’s just Harry’s words. Maybe.

“Cool, here you go.” Louis swiftly pulls out the words from his very dry mouth, hurriedly stirring in the last of the ingredients (sugar and lemon hastily sprinkled all over, making a very unappealing display) before stretching and placing the glass in front of Harry, “Have a good day sir.”

He’s fucking freaking out, he is. It’s not something he can really even try denying- it’s expected. Natural, even.

If Louis Tomlinson is provoked with flirtatious remarks, especially by attractive rich strangers with overly chatty personalities and large dimpled smiles, he will lose control. He will do everything possible to flee. It’s simple.

“Make his bill, I’m not heading there again.” Louis drags Stan’s arm just as he manages to dart away from where Harry’s sitting- towards the other, louder end of the pub.

He hadn’t bothered even gauging Harry’s reaction after having made his embarrassing departure. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to ever deal with anything of that sort again.

It’s all so fucking unnecessary. _Why_ is the kid even doing this?

“What happened?” Stan enquires, raising a single eyebrow up, the rest of his blunt features hidden amongst lurking shadows, “He literally looks harmless.”

“He _is_ harmless.” Louis grits out, glancing away, “I just… Can’t deal with him. Please.”

He knows exactly what he wants to do though. He wants to wrap up with work, drag himself home, force down at least three cups of tea and get to bed. _That_ is what he needs to do. He wants to get away.

“Alright, round up the empty glasses from there.” Stan is quick to dismiss, pulling his arm away from Louis’ hold and pointing to the table full of used cutlery.

Right. Louis can do that. Even begrudgingly so.

Strong gusts of wind bellow outside the window just as Louis turns away, whiplashing their way against the tough glass as a middle-aged man coughs on smoke, cigar in hand whilst his companion gently rubs his back. An old man in a thick grey mustache beckons towards Louis, empty glass in hand as the shadows creep closer, looming against his old, wrinkled face. Soft murmur rises from all around, quickening the pace of Louis’ actions, his eyes darting from the cold glasses in his hand, to the ashtray on the counter, to the lighters he clicks, table to table, person to person. Hot adrenalin flits through his senses, sweat pooling under his arms.

Not once does Louis look Harry’s way again.

***

“I’m just a really, really awful person.”

“That’s harsh.”

“And you’re awfully, _awfully_ chatty.” A pause. “Sir.”

“You’re still gonna call me that?” Green eyes come into view, glimmering with mischief, “Still?”

Louis sighs loudly, all his exhaustion coursing its way out in a single, long exhale. He sort of wants to sink into the floor, let his limbs pool through the floorboards and just… Lie there probably.

“You really are something, aren’t you?” Louis finds himself shaking his head, a scary amount of soft emotions having found their way into the huge smile plastered on his face. The words come out with a laugh, and it’s probably the lightest he has felt in a while.

“Something…?” Harry starts.

“So, here’s the thing.” Louis perks up, ignoring the way his thighs hurt considering the awkward position he’s stretched into behind the counter, “You see all these people, Harry? All these grumpy men in huge cloaks and obnoxious, ashy facial hair?”

Harry laughs, legs swinging slightly as he nods, eyes twinkling.

“Right?” Louis prods on, looking down at the counter between them and pressing a thumb on the wood. He sighs before continuing, “And you remember me telling you about the lack of familiar faces around here? How everyone just.. disappears, literally gets swallowed by the chaos outside- and this pub is _just_ a temporary place to hang around at?”

“Uh-”

“So, I was right, okay? _Barely_ few people make the rounds here more than once or twice, and even then, it’s rare to see someone so young and well…” Pretty? Delicate? Innocent? Louis feels the itch on his tongue but doesn’t dare to speak.

“Someone so… _different_ coming in for so many days in a row.” Louis manages, hating how awkward the sound of it is. Like a burst of smoke in a pink room- an explosion of Louis’ horribly framed sentences in the midst of all the pale, prettiness Harry brings with him.

“It’s _that_ rare for people my age to come here, hm?” Harry asks, plain curious as muted grey light spills in from behind him. It’s beginning to get dark really fast and it does nothing but spring irrational agitation in Louis.

How can he possibly explain anything to Harry? How can he expect him to understand all the deep-rooted nervousness that surrounds Louis’ actions? How Louis is a literal wuss.

That’s slightly harsh- not that it’s fully untrue.

“It’s not… Okay, I’m just horrible at being chatty. That okay for you?” Louis exhales, holding every jittery nerve down. He’s not even annoyed, it’s just that his levels of patience have collapsed and honestly… Harry makes forming coherent sentences a lot harder than it should be.

“What kind of excuse is that?” Harry laughs out, absolutely oblivious to that constant undercurrent of jitteriness in Louis’ voice, “I genuinely want to know though. I don’t interrupt you while you’re speaking, do I?”

“It’s not every day that customers warm up to me.” Louis says it in a single breath, surprising himself with the weight that single sentence holds, “Neither do I ever make an attempt to be too nice, so… Yeah.”

The walls around them almost retreat a bit, creating space for the unexpected honestly of Louis’ words. He barely remembers the last time he was so honest with anyone really, including himself. The thought lies acrid.

“ _That_ makes you think you’re an awful person?” Harry pauses, slow disbelief sinking into his words. Which- what?

Louis lets out a loud, involuntarily laugh which instantly crumbles, rough and shaky round the ages as he shakes his head. The world around him blurs slightly. “You’re making this really hard for me, you know that?”

And there… Harry is smiling again. There’s a small, curious tilt to his mouth and Louis sort of wonders how he manages to draw so much attention to himself. Customers have mercifully reduced in number today, and despite that, Harry still received at least a handful of curious glances.

“I still don’t understand though.” Harry pushes on, tapping his fingers on the table. It smoothens to an almost musical thrum. “Is it wrong to talk to me or something? Am I being rude?”

“No, Harry, _no_.” Louis immediately bursts out, silently slapping himself for making Harry feel that way. That kid is _anything_ but rude. “It’s gonna take a while for me to like, adjust to your attention I guess.” He gives in, hyper aware of how honest he’s being, “I’m not too great at conversation though-”

“You don’t get to decide that.” Harry instantly interrupts him with a scrunched, indignant frown, the thrumming growing louder by a notch, “I like it here, so someone to talk to would be nice I think.”

_“Someone to talk to.”_

Is that all this is about? Harry needing company and roping Louis in through a series of playful remarks and bright smiles?

Either ways, Louis feels a ripple of eagerness.

“Okay.” Louis purses his lips, the sudden shift in the atmosphere proving to be a tad more jarring that he’d expected. It’s nice though.. Harry seems innocent, warm and lovely with his long legs pressed together and a large grey sweater pulling over his palms. And Louis finds himself warming up a little more.

“Louis Tomlinson.” He sits up, a brave smile pulling across his lips.

Harry blushes deep crimson and the night gleams in response.

***

Louis finds a bag of gummy bears at one point, somewhere later into the night.

“What’s that?”

“What does it look like?”

“Give it to me.” Louis points to the bag of multi colored gummy bears lying next to the box of frozen lemons, ignoring Stans’ unimpressed expression. Harry is waiting for him further away, his figure looking innocent and discreet from a distance. He had wanted his beloved lemonade, asking for it with a blinding smile lined with mirth. So of course, Louis had to comply.

And now Louis’ eyes have caught sight of _gummy bears_.

Stan hands the bag to him roughly, instantly dismissing his presence and walking away as Louis stuffs his hand into the bag and puts five in his mouth. He needs the sugar since Harry is slowly making him very nervous with his long comments on all the small, inconsequential aspects of the pub. He mentioned all of it in a single breath as Louis had held his own and listened.

“So, stock comes in every few weeks?”

“The lighting is quite dark.”

“I actually really like the jingling of the door. It’s very pleasant.”

So. Basically, Harry loves observing. And Louis doesn’t know how to concentrate on anything with Harry smiling every two seconds through a conversation or pursing his lips or going on a long drawl about the lack of staff or the tired atmosphere.

“You’re gonna tire yourself out Louis, it’s not good.” He had provided, sugary-sweet with his words after noticing the way Louis had yawned loudly mid sentence.

And can Louis handle such strangely comforting gestures from a stranger? Absolutely fucking not.

So. He needs the sugar and yeah- gummy bears. Right.

They taste heavenly as he pops in a few more and heads back, lemons in hand.

***

It’s warm. Really, really warm.

That shouldn’t even make sense, because winter is approaching- has been approaching since the beginning of October. The pub was never exactly insulated and really, considering all the cold air racing across the sleepy landscape outside, it shouldn’t be this warm. This is… Intoxicating. It feels so.

“So there was this one guy once, this… Boy in a yellow t shirt.” Louis finds himself mumbling into the warmth surrounding his face. Harry’s face comes into view and they’re probably really drunk or something. “He used to come in every single day- just like you. It was like, seven months ago or something and he’d sit right there-'' he points haphazardly towards a shady corner, “- right there with a bag of _yarn_.” Disbelief and amusement spills.

“Like, these proper needles and balls of multi colored yarn. And he’d come every single day, sit in that corner and knit.” Louis blinks, eyes on that shady corner which had once been a regular spot his eyes would find, when he’d be cleaning glasses and keeping an intent eye on the boy. The memory brings a feeling of sudden longing. “It went on for about a week I think, and he’d started off with just those two needles and threads, and ended with a neatly done sweater. He even stared at it for a long time after he was done. Just… Taking it all in I guess.”

Louis feels drunk. Maybe it’s the memory that fills him with a sense of irrational sadness, dripping blue hues into the air; or maybe it’s the just way Harry’s looking at him as though he’d just recited a Shakespearean verse.

Or maybe he did drink something. Everything is fuzzy around the edges- he’s out of his fucking realm.

“He never came back after that.” Louis huffs out, melancholy thick in his voice.

There’s a beat of just silence and heavy breathing. Hardly any voices can be heard within the pub, it’s probably really late. Louis doesn’t know.

He exhales, “That was highly unprofessional of me, I shouldn’t even have told you that.” Louis whines, squirming in his seat, “Fuck, did I _drink_ something? Unknowingly?”

Harry giggles, his gaze blurring in Louis’ line of vision. His eyes look very enthralled despite the exhaustion that weighs down on them…. It’s definitely very late.

“I don’t know if you did, you just seem very tired.” Harry provides, his voice deepening and pressing into Louis’ eardrums. He sounds sympathetic, almost like he’s trying to coddle. “Get some rest Louis.”

Right.

Louis pulls himself up and instantly grabs hold of the counter, his knuckles becoming pale as his world spins a full three sixty. Harry’s mouth widens, a little startled but edging slightly more towards delighted as he smiles awkwardly.

He hasn’t stopped smiling even once for the last… five hours?

_Five hours._

Fuck.

“Yo, hey yeah okay, I think I was supposed to close the store today.” Louis feels the cold realization sink in, eyes dilated and widening, “Are we the only people left?”

“Yeah. Yeah, probably.” Harry reluctantly looks away, scanning the room with heavy eyes. He looks very syrupy and sweet and Louis sort of wants to touch his face. “ _Harry_.” Louis holds on to the counter tightly. He’s hardly able to see straight, much less stand straight. “Are we the last people in here? Tell me.”

Harry immediately spins his head from side to side. “Yeah, we are.” He sits up, realization dawns on him only now in the form of sleepy eyes widening painfully, like a child being awoken. The room fizzles around them.

“Okay woah, I need to close the shutters, Stan must’ve left and oh wow…” Louis inhales sharply, his stomach churning as he takes in the empty pub filled with the strong odor of alcohol and smoke. Typical.

“I’ll help.”

“What?”

“Closing the place.” Harry giggles, “I’ll help.”

Louis stares at him with a watery gaze for a few seconds but doesn’t protest.

***

“It’s crazy isn’t it? How.... people just go their own way, follow their own paths and get sucked away into routine after crossing paths with yours?”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Louis practically whines.

He’s holding onto a very cold pole and watching Harry crouching; his unfairly pretty legs pressed together as he calmly lowers the padlock, clicking the lock shut. His rings gleam in the darkness.

“The boy who used to knit every day?” Harry gets up, key in his palm as he smiles broad. Gusts of wind blow past them, howling into the night sky. “He never came after that right?”

“No, he didn’t.” Louis purses his lips together, frowning to himself. He sort of misses that sight, of the young boy pouring in all that work quietly into his sweater, knitting, knitting, knitting. Louis’ eyes had been so used to catching sight of his yellow t-shirt, every damn evening. “It makes me so sad sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Harry begins walking now, gently holding Louis’ arm and sending electric shocks down his pulse- _as if_ he isn’t feeling drunk enough already, Harry holding him this way isn’t helping _at all_ \- but Louis needs it. His brain and body isn’t functioning in sync and Harry’s palm clutching him is probably the only source of grounding he has…. So he might just give in to it.

Harry’s talking. He’s saying… something.

“Try to look at it in a positive way.” Harry’s boots scrape on the cement, the night sky dripping silvery blue. “Like a lot of people don’t really last, everyone just has their own path to lead. It’s beautiful though, depending on how you decide to look at it-”

“I can barely process anything you’re saying you know.” Louis slurs out, eyes gleaming as his own feet hit the pavement. Are they going home? Is _Harry_ taking him home? How the actual fuck-

“Yeah.. Um, you don’t really look like you’re in control.” Harry meekly says, his dimples pooling with darkness. He looks slightly embarrassed. “It’s okay though. So do you live around here? Or like-”

“ _You’re_ going to drop me home?” Louis blurts out, “What is even happening? Did you _drug_ me?”

“No! Louis, no way!” Harry immediately snaps his head to Louis’ side, appearing absolutely flabbergasted. The air swirls. “I don’t know what happened. I’ll just… Help you home? If that’s okay?”

Louis stares for a few long seconds, every word getting harder to comprehend. It strengthens his doubts of having drunk something really strong, and truly- what? More like _why_?

“Yeah uh.. It’s a really tiny, horrible flat around…” Louis turns around, the stars twinkling overhead as his windbreaker ruffles. Cold winds slice past his numb ears. Harry’s hold on his arm burns.

“Here.” Louis comes to a wobbly stop, hand outstretched to the tiny entrance of his building. It’s just a narrow passageway that leads to a flight of staircases, up and up and up, Louis’ flat sits on the sixth floor. So far away from where he is now. So so far away…

Louis feels Harry's arm tighten as he turns to look at him.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on, I’ll help you up.”

“You’re a customer at my workplace.”

“And a fairly decent human being too.”

“Harry- “

“It’s past 2 am. You won’t make it beyond a single flight.”

A pause.

“Okay.”

***

It’s only once Louis fumbles his way into the darkness of his living room, past the damp stench, past the couch, the bedroom, the bathroom door, and finally throws up in the toilet; that a slow sense of clarity begins setting in.

It’s slow, but it’s there. Dripdripdrip.

The gummy bears.

Oh my God.

Louis laughs to himself, falling to the floor and clutching his stomach because he doesn’t remember the last time he felt this drunk.

He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this fucking _good_.

And perhaps, the green eyes that left at the doorway are to be blamed too.

Perhaps.

***

Louis doesn’t watch the glossy paper under his vase when he flops himself on the couch. He doesn’t hear the voices, the sights, all the lights, he doesn’t hear or feel any of it this time.

He can only feel warmth, seeping down his belly and curling at his toes as he winks away the white spots, slightly enamored by just the __feel__ of everything. The couch creaks slightly underneath him.

He still has questions. So many of them, with Harry’s name filling every space and yeah... Those can be kept aside for a bit.

At least his heart feels strangely light and warm.


	2. Chapter 2

“Alcoholic gummy bears.” Louis feels a light escape his lips the moment the sentence leaves his lips. The words barely float above the chaos around them.

Harry is here.

“So you were drunk last night.” Harry grins as he keeps down his pencil, the pages of his book ruffling lightly, sucked away by all the constant chatter of the pub. The “dark, gloomy and strangely mysterious pub” as Harry likes to call it, with a constant “but it’s nice” punctuated at the end as if he doesn’t want to be grim about it.

Louis gets it though.

“I was, yeah. It had been a very long time so….”

Harry hums, “An experience is an experience.”

“That reminds me.” Louis huffs out another breathless laugh, refusing to let his gaze stray, “You really dropped me at my doorstep huh. Proper gentlemanly.”

“The hard part was making you stand still while I was closing the shutters.” Harry’s eyes gleam with the memory, as though last night had been a proper adventure for him and he was recollecting all of it now. Like the post adventure haze.

It probably was an adventure considering all the professional boundaries that had been broken- all thanks to gummy bears. The mere thought feels anti-climatic.

“Oh wow. I’m sorry you had to see all of that.” Louis shifts his footing, letting his elbows rest on the cold counter as he watches Harry calmly, searching for something within the green gaze watching him curiously. Something- _anything_.

He doesn’t exactly know Harry yet and he’s still a tall, attractive, chatty boy who draws in the pub every evening in front of Louis’ eyes- at least until Louis gets to know more. And suddenly… he does. He wants to know more.

“Why are you sorry? It was quite fun actually, I never thought I’d see that side of you.” Harry smiles, just a small, timid tilt that pulls at the corner of his mouth. “How much had you eaten?”

“What?”

“The gummy bears.”

“Around seven or eight I think and honestly- they were _strong_. They shouldn’t even be casually lying around like that! Stan didn’t even tell me they were the alcoholic ones.” Louis eyes fall to Harry’s lips- only for a fraction of a second-before they go back to his eyes. His wide, incredulous eyes that gleam just as bright as the rings on his fingers.

Harry shifts slightly and he’s probably feeling shy now that Louis is being so strangely forward. The dynamic has shifted and Louis doesn’t quite know where they stand right now.

“Stan is the other guy who works with you?”

“Yeah, the guy with the buzz cut? All stern faced and constantly telling me off? That’s him.” Louis finishes with a dry laugh, hoping Stan isn’t anywhere close- he’d probably get yelled at or just plain stared at with a horrified expression because well… Harry’s still technically a customer.

Louis hears the door jingle open, bringing in a group of cloaked men, cigarettes dangling from their lips just as Harry opens his mouth to say something but immediately trails off, eyes on Louis’ alert ones.

It’s getting late so more people making their way in is completely natural. Louis has watched it- still does, every single day; he knows what time of the day is the busiest, when the chatter dulls, when the customers thin out. He knows all of this, just as any other bartender should.

Difference is, Harry is here right now and Louis feels sharp resistance towards his duties.

“So. I have a job.” Louis laughs as he shifts awkwardly, feeling the cold reluctance of moving away from Harry’s warmth sting his insides. The men will begin barking for their drinks- anytime now.

“It’s a wonderful job. Not easy at all.” Harry calmly replies, his eyes not having left Louis’ for even a second now. It’s like he’s looking for something beneath Louis’ irises and it should be freaky, or uncomfortable or whatever but all Louis feels is nervous energy fluttering in his stomach. Harry’s voice is like honey, golden and bright, dripping through the air and blinding all the dark, glum surroundings.

Louis really doesn’t want to go.

“I’ll attend to them and be back, yeah?” Louis says as he hears Stan call out to him, his own hands are busy preparing a martini. It’s a chaotic sight beyond all the calm Harry is perpetually surrounded with. Louis wonders how it even works that way, like gold splattered on black.

Louis is just about to turn, pushing away the heavy reluctance pressing at his bones and making his way to the tables, to the stern faced men beckoning him over with huge hands and rude smiles- before he gets held back.

Harry has grabbed hold of his arm.

“You look _really_ happy today.” Harry bellows into his face, a huge, ridiculously happy grin plastered across his lips. Louis’ surroundings mute to a distant buzz as his own eyes widen, ignoring the sparks that run up his skin where Harry’s holding him. “It’s so wonderful to see, really.” He continues, looking so stupidly happy at just the mere prospect.

“Yeah?” Louis finds himself saying, rendered to breathlessness as he lets himself stare for a second longer.

Fuck. Wow… What?

Harry’s still smiling when he lets go, his cheeks reddening as the genuine glint in his words, in his eyes, in the way his lips curve throws Louis’ mind into chaos.

Louis doesn’t know what to say or do because everything is sort of brimming to the top, and he doesn’t want it to tip- he can’t afford that. Not yet.

So he gently pulls away, forcing away the wetness in his eyes.

***

_“You look really happy today.”_

The words chime through Louis’ mind, on and on, a continuous rhythm as he attends to the people flocked on all tables. Beer bottles, martinis, cocktails, lemonades, plates of hashbrowns and wafers; back and forth, on and on. Sounds of crockery clicking, whiskey bottles fizzling, lemons pressing fill the evening air; but beyond all that, like beams of sun looming over a thunderstorm- is Harry's words.

You look really happy today.

Loud and clear. Resonating through Louis’ eardrums.

He doesn’t know how to interpret that… Or if it even needs to be interpreted. It’s a statement after all, and Harry didn’t look like he was even expecting an answer to it. The fact that he said it though- that he’d observed something so inconsequential to him and gone on to tell Louis about it- it’s so much. It means so, so much.

Louis doesn’t know how to take it. At all.

It’s a feeling so alien almost, with the surges of warm gratitude that dot the sheen in his eyes as he glances to Harry every few seconds and walks past him to grab a couple of glasses; or even go on to throw a smile his way. It’s the least he can do when his own insides churn with some stupidly delighted feeling which his body just isn’t used to inhabiting within itself.

Where did Harry even _come_ from?

Just…wow. Louis has his apprehensions and all the questions that throb in his head; but there’s no point in focusing on those aspects- not when there’s so much more at the top. So much he still wants to discern.

He isn’t as scared of the thought as he thought he’d be.

***

So Louis tries, every evening.

It’s so unlike him, so beyond routine, beyond just… Everything his life has been for more than a year now.

Harry continues coming in every evening, around 7 pm normally, when the sky grows darker and the air smells cold and frosty, mixed with traces of sharp alcohol as Louis glances his way immediately; in the midst of making drinks or serving plates. Then comes the tiny smile that stretches at its own pace as he ambles towards Harry, shy but strangely unafraid of pushing boundaries.

He wants to know. Wants to listen and absorb everything Harry offers.

That boy makes it just so, so easy. He’ll smile every time Louis makes his lemonade (something that just grew to become a daily thing now and Louis really doesn’t mind at all), delicately brush his fingertips on his book, stare with wide eyes, sip on his drink every few seconds while Louis talks- he _talks_ , he actually does.

“My mum used to make pink lemonade very often.” Harry says, eyes on his drink as Louis lets himself sit down. It’s in the middle of the week and there aren’t too many people today. Crowds growing thinner means more time around Harry, which is… Good? Yeah?

Cold, grey mist pours through the foggy windows as Louis inhales, bits of exhaustion pouring through. He looks up and catches Harry watching, “Pink lemonade is like dye and cranberry I think, not very organic.”

“Gummy bears are pure gelatin and flavouring, that’s not very organic either.” Harry says with a smirk and an unabashed smile as Louis huffs out a laugh. “I loved it though, as a child. My sister was into all those carbonated drinks and _God_ , I just never understood how anyone could drink that by choice. It’s just.. Static.”

Louis pouts his lips, thinking about it for a few seconds. “I don’t know actually. Carbonated Drinks and juices were staples every time we had parties in any household back in my hometown so I never really looked at it as.” He punctuates it with a laugh, blinking away the residual pain that the memories bring.

It’s cold outside and Harry’s warmth feels comforting, considering the huge grey sweater he has pulled on- paired with his regular skinny jeans. Of course.

“I like how you make it here.” Harry brings his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before placing it down. The thump rattles somewhere near Louis’ knuckles. “It’s very fruity and acidic unlike the surroundings it’s made in.”

“This place _really_ intrigues you doesn’t it?” Louis sits up, a huge amused smile curving the corners of his cold lips. He should put on a balm or something, barely a week into November and every damn breath shudders as the air mystifies. He isn’t tempted to delve further into whatever winter has in plan.

Anyway.

Harry is looking down at his drink and biting his lips in an almost embarrassed fashion- and really, Louis can easily think of a hundred other things to say to embarrass him further but he seals them in. Keeps them within his cold, dry lips.

“I mean... yeah, I’ve made it very obvious haven’t I?” Harry continues biting his lip, fighting against another ridiculously endearing grin as he swirls his cup absentmindedly. “I had lunch at McDonalds, literally a fast food restaurant in the middle of the city. Like, an entire cheeseburger and nuggets and all that fattening greasy food they serve there-“

“It’s unfairly tasty though!”

“Hell yeah it is, but-” Harry swirls his drink faster, very persistent to make his point as Louis just sits back and watches, only slightly amused. “-But I step into the Communitas like, four hours after finishing lunch in McDonalds and suddenly it’s like…”

“A whole new dimension?” Louis provides, the exasperated sigh to his tone doesn’t go unnoticed and suddenly Harry looks very excited about it.

“Exactly- Exactly! It’s almost an… Escape I think? From the chaos outside at least. Some time with just silence and men with cigarettes and beers and you obviously-” Harry goes on and Louis nearly chokes on air. “-So the whole twenty minute drive that it takes to travel from the station after catching the second train and walking ten minutes from the parking lot- actually does pay off. Me, my lemonade and you.” He looks up, delighted by his own words, all sugary sweet and syrup-like.

_“Me, my lemonade and you.”_

Louis sort of wants to tattoo that sentence- that fucking poetic sentence that makes his bodily functions pause for a whole two minutes before he speaks.

“It takes thirty minutes for you to get here?”

“Yeah, twenty five if traffic spares me- which is very occasional.”

Louis hums, eyes on the grainy counter before he blurts out, “How the _hell_ did you even find this place?”

Well. He’s curious, so.

“It was on a very rainy day. Like, proper sleet and hail falling from the sky when my car sort of broke down in front of the gates. So I called for the repairer and roamed around within the Communitas, saw the exterior of the pub and decided to come back again.” Harry says, faster than his usual drawl, like it’s the most matter of factly thing in the world.

There’s a long pause and Louis just stares at him for a few seconds, watching the golden spots dance behind his irises, and then-

“You can’t be serious.” Louis decides, searching Harry’s face for traces of mischief- which he doesn’t actually find. “This is straight out of a film, your car breaks down and suddenly you decide to venture and find a gloomy, obscure pub?”

“If you want to put it that way, yeah sure.” Harry laughs, and there’s no sign of any offense taken despite the heavy sarcasm in Louis’ tone. “I’m glad very few people know this place exists.” 

Hm.

Louis wanted to delve in further, ask more questions about Harry’s university or where he stayed or pretty much anything along those lines- there’s genuine curiosity pressing hard at the back of his mind. He shouldn’t though, he’d rather take things slow and keep his own inquisitions apart while letting Harry talk at his own pace. Smooth and shy and bright.

It’s nice. Everything always feels so strangely nice around him.

Few customers do interrupt their conversations but Louis doesn’t mind too much because one way or another he always finds his way back to Harry’s table. One way or another, conversation always sparks, about Harry’s favorite meal at McDonalds (Louis hasn’t actually been there in _ages_ , but of course he doesn’t mention it), about his favorite movies (Harry’s a fan of rom coms apparently which Louis could have easily guessed considering all his deep, long drawls about small aspects and the way he tends to romanticize most of what he says-which is pretty amazing). The conversation had even managed to weasel out Louis’ own love for slow paced, drama movies apart from romance to which Harry had excitedly jumped upon with tons of recommendations of his own.

All of it is always kept within a tiny bubble of their own, apart from the disturbance and chatter that continued to ensue within the pub.

“Are you a reader?” Harry asks on a Tuesday evening, his voice very slow, very inquisitive.

Louis quirks his head to the side, taken aback by the sudden forwardness of the question, “Not really, no. Why?”

“You seem like someone full of words.” Harry replies, fingers smooth against the cold glass in his hand as he beams. Bright.

Louis had been straining some gentleman’s cocktail into a glass- just the way his work expects of him- being the diligent worker he is, all organized and careful and here… Harry starts a conversation about _him-_ not movies, not restaurants or gummy bears or whatever- about _Louis_.

It’s tedious this way. It’s tedious handling conversations steered this way.

Louis sort of wants to drop his items and flee.

"Um-"

“Have you read IT?” Harry presses, his large, sparkly gaze flitting through the cold, grey evening that weekdays tend to bring along. There’s a tiny prickle of insistence beneath his tone which does nothing but induce amusement within Louis.

“IT?” He asks, hand cold on the glass.

“The book? The one by Stephan King?’ Harry smoothly continues. His delicate hands stay curled up underneath the counter, all calm and dainty, rings occasionally catching the light.

So. Stephen King.

“The last book I read was Harry Potter in 6th grade for a book review competition.” Louis thumps the glass down, the red liquid staring up at him, obnoxiously pungent- just as his customer wanted. Good.

“Does everyone read it that early on? I was in high school when I read Harry Potter.” Harry leans back, a slight pout on his face which Louis would find highly annoying if it was anyone else. Harry almost… Pulls it off? It shouldn’t even make sense, but it does.

“I did read IT in high school actually.”

“Oh so you _have_ read it!” Harry guffaws.

“Yeah I have read IT.”

“IT?”

“Yeah. It.”

Louis looks up, a grin threatening to fall off his face at the utter ridiculousness of all of it, but his glee only increases with the way Harry reciprocates it- even ten fold so. He’s wearing a white t-shirt this time, a thin one reaching below his elbows, curls tousled haphazardly on that oddly giddy head of his.

“Did you like it?”

“Hm?” Louis picks up a new glass, cold on his fingertips as he reaches down for a bottle of scotch ordered by a gentleman reading a tiny book, his ashy lips sucking on a cigarette. An everyday sight inside the pub. “I did, yeah. Beautifully, tragically gruesome… Far better than the movie. One thousand and two hundred pages of my teenage brain grappling with every grotesque way Stephen King decided to kill his characters, very oddly thrilling.”

Harry’s lips stay slightly apart (it’s just how he looks probably, a pretty sight nevertheless), his jaw quivers as he speaks, “I finished reading it last night actually.”

“Did you now?” Louis immediately laughs out, loud and open. Well this could be fun.

“Yeah.. Er, not sure if this whole uh-”

“Post horror book effect?” Louis sympathetically offers, his insides strangely warm.

“Yeah.. It’s gonna wear off right? I don’t like- There weren’t too many pleasant scenes. Very brutal.” Harry flushes slightly, attempting to feign nonchalance and failing miserably so. Such a fawn. Awh.

“It does wear off. Keep flowers by your bedside.”

“What?”

“Flowers? Fragranced ones? They’ll bring sweet dreams.” Louis withholds another burst of laughter as he fills in the tall glasses, hyper aware of Harry’s gaze fixated on him. He’s taking the piss out of it.. Poor Harry, he doesn’t quite deserve that.

“I don’t have fragranced flowers.” Harry breathes out, appearing genuinely uneasy, teetering towards panicked. “I uh- I have perfume though.” Soft relief ripples to the surface as he mutters, “Perfume that smells like flowers.”

“It’s that bad then?” Louis laughs out as he stirs, crockery clicking. He’s trying to sound empathetic, see. “And you use _flowery_ perfume?”

“It is bad. I made tea for myself at 3 am last night, and almost woke up in a cold sweat. I hate how the scenes just replay in your head you know.” Harry bites his lip and yeah- Louis knows. He knows the effect. “And yeah uh.. Perfume is perfume. Flowery is nice, it’ll do. Should do.”

Louis stares for a few seconds, hand hovering above the counter, taking in the stellar way Harry gulps and shifts and attempts to school his features. Such a fragile boy… and he isn’t particularly embarrassed about it as such- he’s genuinely _asking_ for tips.

And oh wow, he uses flowery perfume too. Daisies? Tulips? Hibiscus? Louis wants to ask, he’s bemused and genuinely curious.

Instead, he quirks up an amused brow and flashes a small smile towards Harry’s gentle, perched figure- who is probably quietly contemplating on how to get through tonight since Stephan King’s writing tends to leave longer impacts and IT isn’t exactly a light read. So.

The glasses rattle on Louis’ tray, a poignant sound slicing through the slow hums and muted calm tones of blacks and greys in the room as he ambles away, towards the customers who’ve probably called out at least a few times now.

Harry watches him with dull eyes as he leaves, because he knows Louis will come back one way or another.

He knows it and there’s a comforting warmth in that realization.

***

“Here.”

“Hm?” Harry looks up, turning around swiftly, his painfully tight jeans stretch at his thighs. It’s a wonder he even fits in them.

Louis has a bill between his teeth, hands full of glasses that tilt at a precarious angle as he motions towards a small paper kept on the countertop, “Take it.” He grits out.

“Uh..” Harry picks the paper up, curls flailing on either side of his scalp. His drawing book stays neatly tucked at his side.

“It’s a recipe for chamomile tea. I was an avid horror movie enthusiast at one point so um...” Louis grapples with the glasses in his hand, half unsure if he’s drooling or not. “You can connect the dots.”

“Thank you so much!” Harry immediately quips out, his face splitting like a fallen sunbeam, instantly muting the dull surroundings. A bright diamond in the abyss. “I really appreciate it.”

Louis feels something thrum within his chest. ThudThud. He’s staring- yeah, maybe. Possibly. It doesn’t matter too much though, does it?”

“Anytime.” He attempts to smile as graciously as the paper between his teeth lets him, “Goodnight Harry.”

“Night.” Harry gleefully responds, unabashedly grinning as he ambles away, out of the relatively empty pub, cloak billowing gently behind him. Rich, pretty boy.

Louis inhales and exhales. Once, twice, thrice.

Alright then.

***

It ends up being a success. Somehow.

Because Harry looks coy and has a shy mellow light to his eyes when he comes in next day, book in hand, clothes silky looking and well… Expensive. It never fails to instill some sort of wonder within Louis, because here- this bloke- is definitely really fucking rich and smart and probably bathes in a gold tub or eats on silver 

plates or throws grand parties with fine wine and chocolate fountains or something- and yet his personality screams right through all of that. There’s an undercurrent- a strong one- of oblivious gentleness.

And it always shows, of course it does.

It shows when he trots up to Louis, mirth coloring his gaze as he plonks his book on the table and grins. A megaton watt smile, “I think it worked.” Heh. Silly boy.

Louis lifts his gaze up, highly amused but failing miserably on trying to hide it. His feet feel bouncy and warm as he throws in an innocent tone to his voice despite knowing exactly what Harry is talking about. “What worked?’

“The chamomile tea. I think it worked.” Harry continues, the light behind his green eyes stirring only slightly. He’s got a nice black scarf pulled around his neck and there… There’s gold stitching on the edges. Fancy, expensive, _gorgeous_ thing. Louis looks up, straight at his face, knees bumping the counter, “You _think_ it worked? Are you not sure?”

“No, I think, yeah- um. It definitely worked.” Harry stumbles on his words, the air settling around his lovely shoulders as he settles on the stool. Louis’ hands press into the counter, hard and woody as Harry continues. “I prepared it exactly the way you’d written it down, step by step. Even put the whole flowery perfume thing and slept.”

It’s so ridiculous, the whole thing. Louis really likes it though, Harry doesn’t seem like he cares too much about how much sense he’s even making. He just… Talks. There’s beauty to that.

So Louis swallows a burst of fondness and focuses on Harry’s smooth lips instead, “No bad dreams then?”

“Nope.” Harry pops the ‘p’ before shifting slightly, something dark hangs over his features just then. “There was this one scene from the book though. The um, the monster who uh- killed the kid-”

“Lots of monsters killed lots of kids in the book.” Louis says, smooth.

“Yeah-” Harry squirms slightly, the thought having brought some unease. “-Yeah but there was one specific one, like... really bad. It kept playing in my head for a long time.”

“Was it the decapitation one?”

“Oh my God!” Harry immediately barks out, his cherubic face scrunching up, cheeks and dimples. “Fuck- no. I hated it- still do.”

Louis laughs, it’s low but it’s there. Harry looks petrified and yeah- that’s valid. IT was probably the only horror book Louis had ever read that was more gruesome than terrifying- high school days, those. He was a curious one, slightly daring too. Horror movies made it to the top of his list every damn time he wanted to jump right into something.

“It wears off Harry. Where’s the thrill if you aren’t gonna jump out of your skin a bit?” Louis shifts, watching the door jingle open to bring in a group of people. Thick coats, dark mustaches, cigarette packets in palms. The typical.

Harry’s eyes trace the movement for a few seconds before speaking. “It’s not a bit, it’s a… lot.” He flushes, red coloring his cheeks and awh.

“Clowns and monsters aren’t going to come chasing after these curlies.” Louis finds himself saying, sliding away towards the new set of customers; and okay-that response was teetering towards flirtatious, which… which isn’t exactly what he’s aiming for here. But it isn’t like he can take it back anyways. So.

Harry is glowing positively pink, legs all neatly cramped in the small space, rendered to speechlessness (That’s… understandable. Louis can be confusing- he’s a confused man himself.) But Louis doesn’t really look back for a reaction and instead smoothly slides away, bottles and notepad in hand.

Weekday. Buzz Buzz. Harry’s watching.

***

The awkwardness melts away easily once Louis finishes serving a few people-hands cold and aching from all the bottles and trays he held- as he finds himself easily leaning forward on his stool behind the counter, listening to Harry as he speaks.

“Horror isn’t my thing. It just isn’t.” Harry gives in, his fingers absently rolling around the pencil as beams of dim lights catch at his curls. Murmur filters in between them. He’d named every single horror book he’d ever read (which turned out to be just four of them) and gone on to explain every ‘post horror book effect’ his apparent weak soul had suffered through, exaggeratedly moving his hands around and throwing in, “That was horrible alright? It’s so unnecessary!” or a very heavy, pathetic “ _Why_ do so many people have to be even killed?” while explaining the soul crushing feat that was finishing the book _Ring_. It was another classic horror book Louis had read as a teenager so listening to all of it back again- years later from such an overdramatic and adorably amiable narrator is… It’s captivating. He really, really likes it.

“Chamomile tea Harry.” Louis punctuates with a laugh once Harry’s face looks pale and layered with sheen. He’s had a memory overload probably. “Teenage me was into all of this so I get it. Just… It’s not real, you know?” Harry’s face literally _drops_ at that, as he quips out sarcastically, “Oh no of course. Clowns who live in drains are totally real aren’t they? They live with the plumbers, see!”

Louis raises an amused eye, thoroughly enjoying this. “Wow, sassy pants.”

Too much? Maybe? Ugh.

“I’m not _sassy_.” Harry replies, voice deep. “It’s just not made for me. I’m going back to reading drama and romance.” He finishes. Prompt.

“A mate of mine in my senior year had lent me Frankenstein once.” Louis absentmindedly says, his thoughts having drifted. The pub feels warm and Harry’s gaze _burns_. “The most freaky and whacky plot in existence. I’d expected gore and horror, it turned it to be more of a thriller. That’s sort of the charm of books though, right? A lot of it is based on your perception of the work at the end of the day.” 

Harry stares. Hard.

The floorboards creak somewhere in the distance, glasses clinking together and smoke curling among the shadows as Louis stares back. It’s like Harry is scrambling for the right words, like he’s trying to assemble on what to even say. It shows in the way his deep eyes twinkle before he speaks, “That’s a wonderful way of putting it actually. I like that.” 

Flattery. Yeah, totally.

Harry’s so nice.

“Thank you I guess?” Louis laughs out, relishing the way the smoke parts out and everything feels so light, so easy to touch. Harry’s looking at him, all skin and pink cheeks and gorgeous hair; the attention should itch but it doesn’t. It burns hard underneath Louis’ tight chest.

They spend the evening talking about a plethora of classics, romance and literature novels; where Harry had impressively belted out a long list of all his favorites- he was an avid reader during high school apparently. “Took off right after Harry Potter I guess.” Harry had said, resplendent and coy. He was passionate about all of it, words filling with wonder and just pure, unfiltered joy because he really, really likes talking about it, he’s genuine about everything he says. The realization is warm and plasters itself within Louis’ insides as he provides to the conversation; bits and pieces of all his favorite works.

Angels & Demons, Deception Point, Count Dracula, The Picture Of Dorian Gray and so on. Louis may have even rambled on and on, bringing back small instances from his childhood, all the passion he’d pour into his favorite works with sleepy eyes and a sharp mind. “Rereading is underrated.” Louis claimed, lips pouted as he punched the counter with his index finger. “I’ve probably reread all these works a minimum of four times. It’s brilliant.” Harry had nodded in response, quite and appreciative, dimples kissing the bend of his cheeks.

So Louis talks. He doesn’t pull himself back or restrain his words, nostalgia and burning memories pouring into his voice like molten liquid. “11th and 12th grade too, I’d probably have died under all the fucking academic pressure if I didn’t have Stephen King and Dan Brown as company.”

“Thrillers and Horror. Dark genres you’ve got there.” Harry’s gaze was unwavering.

“My favorites though.” Louis immediately quipped because hell yes. That is exactly what teenage Louis Tomlinson was- exactly what his seventeen year old brain used to spend hours and hours rolling around in. Words and words and monsters and draculas and hideous clowns and every damn grotesque scene that had the potential to fascinate him. “It was… almost an effort to spark some life into my own considerably lackluster life. To make things seem more than their worth... I always found myself chasing that.” 

He did. He _had_.

Harry stays quiet, silent and beautiful and everything Louis could ask for at the moment. Louis is filled, probably brimming with bitterness right now, see. He isn't teenage Louis Tomlinson with a brain full of stories and echoing gasps and audible sighs and specks of suspended wonder anymore.

He pushes the realization away, swallows it down his papery throat and focuses on Harry instead. Harry doesn’t question, doesn’t push despite the visible curiosity and concern in his watery gaze. His smile is one of unyielding reassurance though, warm and tender, as though a hand were holding Louis’ own.

So Louis talks more. He talks and reminisces and lets the memories bleed through as the evening lulls and the world around them burns in greys and blues.

It’s been ages. Probably _years_ since he’d ever actually sat down and ran through all of it - years since someone had actually pushed away all judgement and properly listened to him speak. Properly looked at him, brushed his hand, smiled and provided silent encouragement through that singular emerald gaze.

Conversation doesn’t seem so difficult anymore… and of course it had to be a stranger in skinny jeans to prompt all of it.

***

Then Christmas gets brought up one evening.

“We’d hang wreaths on all the neighborhood houses in Cheshire, my sister and I, like, it was a thing between both of us kids, We were in charge of most of the neighborhood décor and mum would get all the free sweets in exchange.” Harry explains, a sheen of happy energy glistening in his eyes. “Now things have dwindled down slightly and I don’t always get to go home for Christmas but we do still put up wreaths and socks despite shifting homes. How about you?” 

Oh, fucking wonderful. He has a question in store too.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas.” Louis literally deadpans, forcing down the tumult of bitterness and melancholy that forces its way up his throat. See, conversations are supposed to be _nice_ with Harry. It’s the only relief he gets through the day and he isn’t making things morose. He doesn’t want to. There’s enough bitterness within his own cold, fucking torn heart- which sounds only half as dramatic as he actually feels.

Spoons and forks click absently in the periphery as Harry stares. “Is it because you don’t get leave from work?”

“What! No!” Louis immediately retorts with a laugh, “You’re _still_ going on about that?”

Because Harry does tend to take notice of such details. It’s almost bizarre at times when Louis is met with a “Did you not sleep last night?” or “I think you’re being overworked”- Just. Point blank. Harry asks and states all of it with a straight face, plain genuine concern rippling the surface.

It’s alien, is what it is. Such questions and statements being thrown into Louis’ face time and again, all of it combined with Harry’s soft, imploring gaze on him does nothing but baffle Louis. He doesn’t know how to take such sincerity from pretty much anyone and that’s…. It’s slightly saddening. Even for him.

“Of course. You’ve worked every single day for nearly two weeks now.”

“Oh my, so you’re counting now?” Louis feels his voice drop an octave lower, because _really_?? Harry is _counting_??

Harry seems particularly pleased with himself though as he sits back, clad in a deep maroon t shirt that reaches his elbows and curls slightly, revealing a few tattoos that Louis can’t quite make out.

“What’s wrong with Christmas?” Harry practically demands.

“Nothing’s wrong with Christmas Harry.” Louis sits up, strangely fidgety. The air smells smoky. He hates it. “I just... Don’t feel like it.”

It comes out sounding horribly desolated and Louis physically feels his skin crawl at the feel of it. He should make Harry’s lemonade, get his hands busy. Routine, yes. Easy.

“Do you live alone?” Harry asks, his voice teetering towards bold but still carefully controlled.

Immediate sharp defensiveness sprouts in Louis’ chest, hit and burning as he squirms under the effect of those words. “Guess it. You’ll be correct for sure.”

“I live alone too though.” Harry staring- a little too hard probably. Because Louis immediately feels every hair on his body stand still, nearly dropping the cold lemons in his hands. Lemonade, yes. He should be making it.

Strawberries are blended into sugar as Louis speaks, his voice off, “Campus life is very different from living within the Communitas though. Hardly comparable.”

Infact, Harry should be at his campus right now. He should be getting drunk with friends, or going out on long drives in expensive suits and glittery hair and throwing multiple parties on the grounds or even staying late completing assignments or whatever… _What_ is he even doing here?

Too many questions. All the fucking time.

Harry doesn’t respond and Louis feels immediate relief. The air parts a little and the heaviness dwindles down as he silently prepares the drink, focusing on the lemons getting chopped and squeezed, the blender whirring, an old man coughing on his cigarette, Stan shaking vodka somewhere in the distance, and yeah- As long as certain topics are steered away from; Louis doesn’t quite hate work as much. Doesn’t hate Harry’s presence at all.

Just… As long as all the dangerous territory is avoided.

They stay silent but continue silently acknowledging each others’ presence through the rest of the evening.

***

The kettle whistles loudly on the rusty stove, steam pouring out of the top as Louis stares at it, deep in thought.

He thinks too much. Far too many thoughts.

“Take me back to the night we met…” Louis hums the tune, the walls of his flat swaying by the sides as he blinks sleepily. Exhaustion pours down his muscles as he switches off the stove and dismounts the kettle.

Slowly, he pours out a cup of tea for himself and walks towards his window, just a tiny stained glass one which perpetually has a layer of condensation and tiny cobwebs marring the edges. The wind is nice though, settling a prickling chill into Louis’ skin as he holds the cup between his palms and watches the scenery stretched out before him in the form of silent buildings, night lamps and scattered, wispy vegetation.

The pub stays tucked slightly away, hidden in the darkest parts of the Communitas, beyond the few night lamps that wash the first few lanes and bylanes in an orange glow. It gets darker and more forbidding as one probes deeper and Louis isn’t quite sure if he’s grateful to have found a flat closer to the gates or not.

He’s thinking today. Not avoiding all the clutter that has sewed itself into the edges of his brain for days on end, not dodging, not pushing aside… He’s letting the thoughts formulate. The tea feels hot on his burning tongue.

He thinks of Harry. 

Charming, skinny jeans clad Harry who suddenly made work seem not so bad anymore. Who suddenly had Louis skipping across tables to get to him and involuntarily settling near his seat and staying there until he simply had to move. Harry who lets Louis speak till his throat goes raw, till he has narrated every single one of his favorite scenes from all his favorite books. Page after page, memory after memory, author after author. Louis feels almost obligated to spill and spill and spill. And he does, he does for all it is fucking worth.

Harry who is probably the brightest speck in the entire pub every single evening,who spends his time occasionally narrating small stories from his childhood and listening to Louis’ own with rapt attention and large, wondrous eyes that perpetually gleam and fill with rich, dark moss. Emerald shades too probably… He does have a lovely set of eyes.

Louis knows few details, like he was born in Cheshire and brought up there by his sister (Gina? Gemma?) and his mum who he absolutely adores and makes that very clear with his long tales involving her.

“She wasn’t an overly strict parent thankfully so I always learnt the rights and the wrongs after experimenting them myself.” He had laughed, eyes bright, “Turns out it’s actually a better way of figuring stuff out in a whacky adolescent brain like mine.”

Louis had probably smiled for ten minutes straight after that, taking in the utter bashfulness and fond that spilled out of Harry’s words. So, so passionate. “She always let me cook too. I’m not sure how many mothers let their sons at the age of ten cook full fledged meals-”

“Oh, mine did not.” Louis had involuntarily blurted out and immediately flinched. It felt like a live wire on his nerves.

“-but my mum was okay with it. Encouraged me even.” Harry continued nevertheless, something akin to silent understanding settling behind his irises as he watches Louis’ obvious discomfort. There was a pregnant pause before he spoke on an exhale, “All mums are just different I guess.” There. Simple.

Louis wasn’t forced to elaborate at all. He wasn’t made to feel obliged.

Things like that…. Harry just blows his mind sometimes.

But. Apart from that, it’s sludge- a moat surrounding a castle. The darker, sadder shades of grey that makes up the entirety of Louis’ recent life, lapped in bitterness and regret and failure… Harry can’t know any of that. Neither can Louis get himself to talk about it.

He is basically a friendless twenty year old living in a tiny, dingy apartment that is perpetually surrounded by shadows and cold air- far, far away from reality. He had decided on it himself. Working a ten hour job in a goddamn pub, scrubbing, stirring, shaking drinks, pushing aside any sort of spark that does ignite within him occasionally- of ambitions and unfulfilled dreams and the life he left behind. The city, out there, covered in glamour and life and achievers looking for new beginnings, disappointments piling, sweat trickling down the spines of actors, artists, writers, journalists, every single one of them pushing on and on and on, refusing to settle for what reality has to offer them. Refusing to settle for anything but the best despite every damn struggle, every damn spark of light that threatens to die behind their irises.

Louis was part of all of it, once upon a time.

A loud horn wails somewhere in the distance, bringing the surroundings to a dizzying standstill as Louis takes in a shaky breath. The glossy paper is staring at him from the living room, still kept under the vase; mocking, jeering, ridiculing him every damn second of the day that goes by. Dreams that died, failure that piled and hacked and hacked and hacked and sucked the life out of him. It’s all there, still, engraved within Louis’ conscience.

He’s lonely. So fucking lonely despite how loud the world around him is.

But…..

Harry will still come in every evening, right? Louis will probably have him at least. An acquaintance. A lovely, cheery guy who pretty much came out of nowhere. With his blunt pencils and gemmed rings and bright eyes… Yeah he’ll have Harry.

He _wants_ to have Harry.

The thought settles easily somewhere between Louis’ ribcage, a warm reminder that life does have it’s brighter moments- it’s a spark; a temporary thing, but it’s there. Definitely there.

At least Louis has something to look forward to. Evenings after 7 pm aren’t too bad after all.

He smiles to himself, taking another long sip of his cold tea and forcing away the burn in his eyes, towards the shadows tucked in the crevices of the low rise, crappy buildings he’s watching.

It’s a wretched sight but he doesn’t quite wanna look away.

***

“Can I walk you home?” 

The empty bottles in Louis’ hands immediately clink together as he quickly shoves them into the mini fridge and turns around to meet a pair of calm, green eyes. 

“You don’t have to.” He says, voice low.

“Should I take that as a no?” Harry digs his hands into his jeans, a sliver of raw nervousness shadowing his actions, “It was an offer, you can decline you know.” 

Well, fair enough. He’s being nice after all. 

“Sure, let me just clear up a few things before closing.” Louis turns back, ignoring the way his hands go cold and jittery. Harry’s a _friend_ , a nice, decent guy who tells him stories of his childhood and how many movies he has watched and how many French fries he ate for lunch- granted, Louis is still oblivious to a lot of other details. Like he still doesn’t know the place he lives, or if he’s really as rich as Louis always presumes, or why he moved to a city like Nottingham for university when there are _tons_ of other options elsewhere. 

Or even why he has stuck around for so long when there are tons of other stuff he could be doing; drawing in that pretty little book of his isn’t even an excuse and they’re closing on nearly three weeks now. 

Louis is overthinking- as usual. Yeah, that’s it. 

It’s been a long day and they’d spent most of their time discussing organic gummy bears and pink lemonade with Harry delightfully explaining the importance of avoiding gelatin and flavorings and choosing cane ingredients instead. “Actual fruit, healthy stuff.” Harry had said, sipping on his own drink (lemonade of course). Louis tried to keep the flow of the conversation going whilst shuffling between tables and avoiding all of Stan’s glares thrown his way when he spent too long sitting behind Harry’s side of the counter. That was a conversation they were yet to have and yeah, no, Louis is _not_ looking forward to it. 

Stan can, and must be kept aside. 

“Then imagine adding alcohol into the unhealthy mix of gelatin and flavorings, it's horrible!” Harry had bellowed, looking absolutely aghast as Louis tried very hard to fight back a laugh. The conversation made no real sense but Harry seemed to have a keen interest in picking up random topics and talking endlessly- Louis was quite fond of that. It grew on him, maybe. 

The last few bottles and ice trays are stashed into their places and Louis turns back, his hand reaching forward blindly to click the lights shut as the pub is dissolved into darkness. Harry is standing at the door, delicate hands tucked into his jean pockets, moonlight tracing his silhouette. He looks like a model straight out of a magazine cover, with the way his adorable curls slide down the nape of his neck, fluffing near the edges of his ears and catching traces of moon. His posture isn’t ever stiff, it’s sort of lanky in a ridiculously endearing way, with the broad shoulders to tiny waist ratio increasing his overall charm. 

Louis is probably just staring at this point. 

So he looks away, breathing heavily with sudden longing, throbbing and painful, hyper aware of Harry’s gaze still stagnant on him. 

Slowly, he takes off his apron and grabs his windbreaker and bag and walks towards the door. He needs air. 

***

The pavements are laden with starlight and scrunches underneath the soles of their shoes (Harry’s expensive Chelsea boots and Louis’ scruffed up Vans, which… Okay.) as they make their way down the road after closing the shutters, the noise of metal hitting metal still rings through the air distantly. It isn’t too late, around 11 pm so Louis doesn’t feel the lethargy settle in yet. It provides a greater sense of calm rather than tiredness, and that’s nice- helpful, even. 

The silence is welcoming, easily settling within the air between them as they walk, leaves ruffling further away, dim white glows settling on the concrete on each side. Old, worn out buildings which require whitewashing and cleaning surround either side, dotted with traces of bushes and trees, all of it watching them in silence. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Louis speaks up, sudden and unexpected, fists deep and knotted together in his windbreaker as he turns his head towards Harry’s slumped, shy figure. Harry looks up, slightly amused before huffing out, “How cliché. Go on.”

“That’s not cliché!” Louis immediately retorts, mock offended and he almost- almost even bumps shoulders playfully before stopping himself. None of that, no. 

“Yes it is.” Harry continues, absently kicking at a pebble, “No one _actually_ says that in reality. You can just directly ask.” 

“Okay, fair enough.” Louis looks away, down to the cold hard cement. The November wind is beginning to pick up pace again and it sets a chill somewhere deep within his skin, a shocking contrast to Harry’s warm body. Louis takes in a deep breath, slow and steady, letting it fill his lungs before speaking. 

“Why are you still sticking around?” 

_There_.

It comes out sounding very breathless so he hurriedly continues before the silence settles in again and he’ll be forced to hear the words back, “I don’t mean it dismissively, just… I don’t really get it. There’s barely anything for you here and yet you spend entire evenings at that rotten pub when there’s _tons_ you could be doing out there. You should be going out with your rich friends in expensive vehicles and like, living the city life- the uh, university life.” 

There’s a beat. Heavy, discomforting silence sets in, wrapping around them as Louis fights every damn urge to flee. 

“You think I’m rich?” Harry’s voice drips in, betraying no particular emotion. It falls flat. 

Okay. Okay so he isn’t snapping at least. Good, okay. 

Louis inhales, forcing himself to stay calm. It’s an obvious answer. “You do _look_ rich. Richer than the middle and lower class standards here at least.” 

He probably should flee. He could just take off and sprint all the way to his building, run up six floors, straight into his flat and bury himself in his couch till the world outside blurs, fizzles and comes to an end. It’s a thought.

“Okay um, I guess yeah.” 

So he isn’t denying it then. Well, okay.

“Me, my lemonade and you remember?” Harry softly says, his voice barely above a whisper, “Why is it so hard for you to believe thatI genuinely like spending evenings away from the city?” 

_With you_ , Louis almost wants him to add. But he doesn’t and it shouldn’t even hurt but it does numb his insides a bit. Painfully so. 

“It’s hard to believe because…” Louis desperately searches for the words, the stars watching him with a pitiful gaze. He _can not_ mess this up.“You spend so many hours in here when you have the entire world to conquer out there, it’s all literally there at your feet Harry; and yet you choose to spend every evening here-” he adds wistfully, “With me.” Just slightly beyond a murmur. 

Harry’s watching him, his gaze heavy with scrutiny as they walk at a pace that is far, far too slow than normal. He’s doing _that_ thing again- searching Louis’ face, lips set apart and curls splayed across his forehead, defining his gorgeous face. “I sometimes wonder, you know.. The way you talk about yourself…” A pause, heartbeats skitter down the pavement. “I can’t help but wonder what the world did to you to ever make you feel this way. Like you aren’t worth someone’s evening.” 

The world tilts its axis and realigns.

A lonesome bird chirps in the distance. 

Louis had been holding his breath for far too long. He realizes it when he exhales, breathless and heavy as he brings them to a standstill, eyes widened and glazed. Any traces of sleepiness that were present before have vanished completely. 

_“Like you aren’t worth someone’s evening.”_

“You aren’t even answering my question.” Louis pushes, cold, hard defiance sprouting around the edges. His flat is right there, round the corner and it’s calling to him, so, so fucking tempting. 

“I’d rather spend every evening here with you than _conquer the world out there_ or whatever else you just said. Is that an answer good enough for you Louis?” Harry’s voice is calm, his coat lapping softly down the edges. “Will you be able to accept that?” 

It isn’t even _meant_ to sound intimidating. It’s Harry genuinely searching for an answer, concernedly curious and confused at the defensiveness that screams through Louis’ demeanor. It’s ripping him apart. 

“Harry.” Louis brings his arm up, hating the way he’s giving in. His voice is wet and shaky as he grabs Harry’s arm. The fabric feels soft on his cold fingers as he tugs slightly, almost pleading. “It’s not… I’m sorry. It’s just overwhelming sometimes.” The air rattles in his lungs. “Everything, sort of.” 

“Yeah?” Harry lets himself get pulled till their feet knock together, the air fizzling as the night makes a silent bow. His voice is comforting, “I don’t know what went wrong Louis, it just baffles me sometimes-”

“I know.” Louis’ reply is instant and he might even be pathetically tearing up at this point as he glances up to lock gazes with the concerned, soft one over his. 

They stay that way, silent and unmoving for a long, long time till Louis can barely feel his numb fingers latched on Harry’s arm that has risen to hold his elbow. It sends sparks down his skin, through his windbreaker, but he lets it stay. Let’s the stars, the pebbles, the trees, the dark windows that he walks past every single day; watch him. Him and Harry, whilst the night fades away. 

They stay that way till Louis’ eyes are burning and the winds aren't lapping but whiplashing its way through the lanes and streets of Nottingham, of the Communitas and sucking the air out of Louis. Winter is announcing its arrival, screaming through all of it. 

“Get some rest.” Harry says after what could’ve been hours or days, but he doesn’t let go of his arm until Louis does. 

He doesn’t move till Louis pulls himself behind and walks away, on and on and on, Harry’s eyes burning into his back as he refuses to look, refuses to meet the gaze- until his feet hit the staircases and cross all six flights, up, up, up till the door to his flat isn’t slammed open and shut and locked with shaky hands. Till he slides down, onto the floor, hands numb and cold. Every spot he’d touched Harry burns.

***

The night fizzles and captures bits of frosts and icicles, licking through the air and dancing its way into the grey sky. A lonely youngster coughs on smoke somewhere in the distance, an empty bottle of whiskey posed between his tired, tired legs. Somewhere, even further beyond, within the by lanes of the dark, lively city sits an author struggling to pour out words, struggling to bring out the best because the pressure is so fucking high; publishing date is far too close and it hurts is the thing- because failure feels evident. So evident.

It hurts because the night will drag on and every lightbulb will crackle alive in its wake, bright spots illuminating the pavements littered with heavy hearts and broken souls who try and try and try but still fall. Still bleed out wounds of hurt and disappointment. 

Louis wasn’t any different. 

***

Something’s wrong. 

Louis feels it fizzle through his bloodstream and spark him alive the second his eyes snap open. It hurts- everything sort of really hurts. He slowly slides down the couch, grey, misty light pouring in through his windows and leaking into the creaky floorboards, plastering into the damp walls and bringing sudden, burning realization with it.

His eyes dart to the tiny clock placed above his television, innocent and just shoddy looking. 

7:30 pm. 

“Oh shit.” Louis stumbles to his feet, barely glancing at the glossy paper right in front of him, under that damn vase- probably laughing at his expense right now. 

He runs. _Of course_ he runs. 

It’s the 28th and Harry is waiting for him. Completely oblivious. 

***

The world around burns in shades of grey and gold, wisping away to bits as Louis practically sprints towards the pub, his thin t shirt and messily pulled on windbreaker not doing much to protect him against the cold air slamming at him. Stupid, bloody _unnecessary_ weather- why does anyone even need winter?? All it does is bring runny noses, high electricity bills and the inability for joints to function normally. Like Louis’,which currently aren’t cooperating at all. 

Nevertheless, he stumbles and trips and nearly falls but he does make it there- running right into the dark lane, past the post boxes, the parked vehicles, the shuttered stores, the cracked pavements, and right there- 

“ _Harry_.” Louis replies, breathless with flooding, intoxicating relief, “ _God_.” 

He barely waits for a reply, barely waits for Harry to even look up really, from where he’s sitting on the pavement in front of the closed pub, delicate milky hands all folded gently over his book, curls tousled and falling over his stunning face. 

“I was just about to leave-” Harry starts, but he’s smiling really huge and everything glows bright despite how grey the sky is. Louis momentarily forgets that it’s winter. 

He doesn’t wait at all, hands reaching to grab Harry’s arm as he pulls him with gentle insistence, “Out, out. We won’t stay _anywhere_ near this horrid, dingy pub today- simply not, Harry. Not Today.”

“Fair enough.” Harry laughs out, his white sweater stretching to his elbows, knees knocking together and stumbling as he lets himself get pulled, or rather _dragged_ away- outside the shady lane the pub is situated in. Louis doesn’t want to be anywhere near there. Not today, no. 

They stumble out, into the main road, velvety blues and blacks stretching out in the universe above them, silvery specks dotting the curtain of darkness. It’s cold, horribly cold and it sort of feels like an ice bucket being dumped on their heads because they’re out in the open now, no cozy lanes and warmth between alleys to provide comfort. 

But. They’re smiling. Really fucking big.

İt’s nice because they’re _always_ smiling, somehow. It’s so nice.

“And, you’re going to explain yourself?” Harry half pants out, looking ridiculously good despite all the bursts of air that explode from his mouth. He’s slightly pigeon toed and Louis really shouldn’t find that endearing but well- he does.

“Yeah.” Louis laughs out, enjoying the way Harry reciprocates the glee as he pulls him forward, towards the tiny van that lies further down the road. He knows where to go. “I don’t have work today, it’s the 28th.” 

“Oh is that so?” Harry throws a half smile, dimples popping under the glow of the streetlamps. Louis leads the way, their shoes clicking on the silent road, “When exactly were you planning to tell me that?” 

“Er- it slipped my mind. The alarm wasn’t set and I slept all through the day so…” Louis lets go and attempts to twirl around a bit, enjoying how the coolness settles on his face, “Here we are I guess.” 

Harry watches him with a gentle, honey soaked smile for a few seconds before all traces of humor having drained right out of his face. His hands stay tucked into his coat, curls spilling on either side of his face as he watches Louis, something teetering towards an affectionate smile slowly overcoming his features. It’s peaceful and echoes through the night. 

“But hey, I’ll make it up to you. See? There? It’s my favorite ice cream shop.” Louis looks away, his thoughts having lost all balance. Especially not when he’s being watched like _that_. He draws in a shaky breath and points to the van which appears to be shuttered up and somewhat lifeless for now. “I hope it makes up for the few minutes you had to sit on the pavement.” 

“ _Hey_.” Harry laughs out, bashful and sweet. “I was listening to music and drawing in my book. Thought I’d just wait for a bit since everything was like… closed.” 

“That must have some real treasures in there.” Louis motions to the drawing book, watching Harry trace his movement, “Drawing, reading, you’re one passionate man Harry.” 

And Louis really means it when he says it. 

“You’re passionate too though.” Harry replies, unbothered. He glances at Louis, open and clear and suddenly, Louis feels the conversation slip right out of his hands. “Still don’t know what the hell happened, but I realize it when you talk you know. There’s soul to it and hey, it’s not every day a thirteen year old reads entire Stephen King novels and manages to be passionate enough to talk about it even years later.”

Fuck.

Something splinters. 

Something actually splinters and crumbles within Louis. 

“Thanks Harry.” Louis mumbles out, hoping the gratitude conveys. It’s so hard when stuff like this is thrown right at his face. 

_‘’I don’t know what the hell happened.”_

Yeah. That’s…. It’s there. Louis hates how it feels. 

“Shimms.” Louis calls out, breaking away from Harry calm, intense gaze as they reach the ice cream van which is still promptly shut up. “ _Shimms_.” He knocks on the shuttered window as his voice echoes away uselessly. 

So, well. This is awkward. 

“Um, this doesn’t normally happen-” Louis starts, highly apologetic just as the van suddenly whirrs to life and the window is screeched backwards, light spilling out in a sudden blinding flash. 

Good Lord. 

“Tomlinson!” Shimms, the ice cream guy positively glows as his head peaks out of the window. He’s a short stout man Louis had befriended months ago and well… He is somewhat of a known face. “It’s been weeks!” 

“Months to be precise.” Louis laughs out, all the bright lights from within the van clashing horribly with his vision as he squints. Harry appears incredulous in his periphery. 

It _has_ been a long time. He isn’t particularly great at maintaining friendships and well, Pink little Shimms here is no exception to that. 

“Do pay more visits in that case, you were quite the avid ice cream eater when you moved in to Communitas in the beginning!” Shimms continues, his thin blonde hair plastering across his pink forehead. He was a very conversational man, Louis now remembers. He’s so bad at this himself. Shimms’ gaze shifts to the side, “And who’s this?” 

Oh. Harry’s here. Right. 

“Uh that’s….” Louis absently picks up the menu card from the window sill, eyes trailing on the list before looking up; only to see Shimms already staring at Harry. The jolly man looks slightly confused, dry lips set apart as he proper frowns at Harry’s shy face. 

What the hell? 

“Have I seen you before?” Shimms asks before Louis can say a word, his voice lowering as he continues to search Harry’s face. “You don’t live here do you?” 

“I don’t. I live in the city.” Harry says simply, emotionless. 

Well. Huh. 

“He’s a curly friend. Attending university during the day and keeping me company in the evenings.” Louis rushes because hey, Harry isn’t being made uncomfortable. Not here, not on his watch. “What do you want Harry?” 

Harry looks away, something heavy having settled behind his gaze as he looks down at the menu, swallowing a bit. He doesn’t look uneasy as such, just…… Disoriented. A bit. 

“Hey.” Louis feels his arm come up, gently placing it on Harry’s spine as he feels a shiver run down it. Harry’s gaze reaches him quickly, and Louis continues because his words feel genuine and easy and he’s aiming for comfort here. He can do that. “You okay? He must have confused you for someone else.” He whispers, only for Harry to hear it. 

“I know. Just a little tired.” Harry replies, his gaze unwavering and gentle. Louis really doesn’t want to look away and whatever may have happened, weird as hell or not- It doesn’t quite matter. Harry’s eyes are steady. 

“Get some sugar into your system then.” Louis smiles, hand pressing harder into the soft fabric of his coat as the stars shift a bit, consuming the electricity that runs between their warm bodies. 

It feels like something. Something Louis wants more of. 

***

Louis has a vanilla ice cream in his cold hand and Harry has one scoop of chocolate and another of bubblegum in his cup as they find themselves meandering through a few alleyways in the Communitas; small spots Louis used to like visiting by himself at one point. The interest had sort of dwindled down with time, so now going back to it, with Harry alongside had ignited a feeling very raw, very alien within him. 

Afterwards, they ended up sitting down on the cold tiles of the veranda. It’s a covered spot, slightly deeper into the Communitas, with lots of pillars wrenched into the ground, surrounding them and shielding them from the night sky as they sit on the floor, with their backs pressed on opposite sides.

“This is what you wanted though right?” Louis laughs out, mouth full of creamy ice cream as he looks up. “I’ve finally got a leave. _Finally_.” 

Harry looks up from his plastic cup, a layer of cream slathering down his lips and dripping near his chin as he speaks, “That’s what I wanted for _you_ Louis.” There’s a tiny, tiny hint of exasperation coloring the corners though, barely noticeable but damn fucking right there. 

Damn right where Louis can feel and flinch slightly in response. 

It hurts a little bit. 

“Yeah, three days of leave and then directly a Christmas break.” Louis breathes out, watching the way his breath fogs. His lips feel cold and the night feels so, so open around him. He looks at Harry, at the way Harry’s legs stay neatly folded together,all long and toned, at the way his rings glint in the semi darkness and shadows trace his porcelain skin. He feels a pang and takes the leap. “You’ll still come over though, won’t you? Like, even if I’m not working?” 

There’s visible heavy desperation in his voice and Louis doesn’t even bother chasing it away. His lungs feel full with _so much_ , it makes him slightly breathless. Slightly giddy. 

He feels the sharp needles of burning anticipation too. 

“Of course I will.” Harry’s voice glides through the night air, catching on the mist as his smile rises up, soft and etched in gold. It feels so much like Harry and everything Louishas learnt to associate with hope- he doesn’t even know what for. But it’s there and it makes him breathe easier. “I told you, I really like it here. And it’s not just the Communitas, you too Louis.” 

“Me, my lemonade and you.” Louis immediately blurts out, happy and grinning because he feels so out of control. Everything feels so giddy and invigorating, “No lemonade today though, not today.” 

“And what about the gut wrenching flavored water?” Harry asks, cheeky. 

Something immediately clicks in Louis' memory. 

“Oh my God, you remember that?” Louis bites off a chunk of cold cream, forcing it down as his cheeks glow. Their first ever proper interaction, ages and ages ago. It definitely feels so. The air glows crisp between them, the warmth of the memory setting in. 

Harry looks particularly pleased, “Of course I do. I still don’t know what it tastes like though.” 

“I mean…” Louis trails off, sniffing a bit, “I still don’t know what your last name is though. It’s only fair.”

So. He took the leap then. 

See, the fact that Louis actually has to hear those words back- the fact that there’s a whole part of Harry he still has no idea about… It doesn’t settle too well within him. It stirs some level of agitation, but well… It won’t be too fair on his side if Harry straight up laid out _everything_ about himself for Louis’ keen ears to gobble up. Louis isn’t any less ridden of unspoken tales. Of times he wished weren’t so fiercely engraved in his mind.

“What do you want to know?” Harry sits up, still sounding very gentle. His empty cup stays next to him. “Like, apart from my last name which really holds no significance.” He laughs out. There’s a broken note to it, beneath the surface but Louis subconsciously sidles past it. 

“What are you studying in University?” Louis sort of mumbles out, sounding twice as pathetic as he did in his head. But hey, this is long overdue. He still doesn’t know so much of this golden, terrifyingly enchanting boy in front of him. 

“Really?” Harry barks out a laugh, genuine amusement writ there. “ _That_ is the first thing that came to you?” 

“I mean…” 

“I meant like, about _me_ Louis. Not how many children I plan to have or how many eggs I’ve had for breakfast or whatever.” Another laugh. 

OH. 

It’s so typical of Harry. Of course he’d wanna focus on the rawer, soul searching aspects. Of fucking course.

“No. I’d like to know how many eggs you’ve had for breakfast actually. Do tell me.” Louis attempts to be cheeky about it, attempts to slow down the way his heart thuds, rapid and hard, synchronized with how his entire being feels. Jittery. 

“One egg and two pancakes.” Harry replies, slow and smooth. He’s taking his time then, and the conversation is probably derailing already because Louis speaks up.

“What inspires you to draw? What’s in there?” Louis asks. He sits up straighter, eyeing the book kept on Harry’s left. The lovely leather book with Harry’s name embroidered in gold on it.

Harry drops a tentative gaze towards it before speaking. “Anything I admire. Anything that fascinates me enough to pick up a greasy pencil and trace and scribble and scrub graphite. It’s never really even an object, just…. Emotions and feelings and stories, even.” Harry knocks his knees together, passion pouring out of his words. “I like that. I like emotions, it’s what makes us human.”

The air swirls a bit, Louis knits his hands closer. 

“Abstract sketches then?” 

“Not necessarily. It’s still a hobby at the end of the day, so I like to just play around with it.” Harry says easily. “Faces, random settings, expressions. Moulding them together is fun, makes me lose perspective even further on what I already don’t have a grasp of. I botch it up enough to feel good about everything that frustrates me.” He exhales, right into the night. His breath is misty as he speaks, “But everything I still feel passionate about.” Silence. 

It settles like a physical being and swallows Louis whole. He feels energy hum in his veins, the buzz of everything Harry said filling his blood. 

_“Everything that frustrates me.. But everything I still feel passionate about.”_

Louis might actually die. 

“That’s beautiful Harry.” Louis mumbles, too weak and at a loss of words. “It’s… always nice to hear such stuff.” 

Harry shifts, sitting up and watching Louis with a composed demeanor. The cold air soaks into his skin and ignites him alive as he looks up, barely two feet of distance between them. 

“What fuels you to wake up every morning?” Harry asks, voice low and very very careful. He’s trying not to overstep and it’s obvious but wow… _Wow_. 

“The fact that I have a drawer full of pending bills to pay? That I have to earn enough to afford the small lifestyle I surround myself with every day?” Louis forces the words out, weak and pathetic. It hurt so much- fuck, it does. So damn bitter, like charcoal in his veins. 

“That-” Harry must’ve caught the obvious self pity in Louis’ tone but he doesn’t show it at all. He’s still warm and syrupy under the night sky. Louis feels so, so grateful. “You know that’s not what I meant Louis-”

Louis takes the leap. 

“I graduated from Oxford more than a year back with top honors actually.” Louis blurts out just then, not missing the way his entire being flinches at the words, shocked by the ferocity with which they are pelted. “I uh, studied Theatre and English and went on to graduate at first place in my university, out of a class of three hundred and fifty. Getting out earlier than everyone else. The uh… The golden kid.” He laughs, dry and rough. 

“And _then_.” Louis continues, refusing to look up. Refusing to look at whatever expression Harry’s face must be twisted into. Refusing to calm the way his blood sizzles within him. “Then after graduation, a producer approached me. He approached me with a script and lots of money, an amount which… Which, let’s say wasn’t particularly normal to be given to a nineteen year old kid straight out of university.” He gulps, because it's picking up pace. Harry’s still watching. “But, since I was who I was. Since I was flying high on success and piled up achievements and every last fucking bit of academic success I was rewarded with year after year, all through school, up until graduation. So I took the offer.” The atmosphere is tense and heavy when Harry shifts. 

Louis doesn’t bother looking up when his hand is lifted up from the cold ground and held hostage by Harry’s large, warm one, encasing it, fingers interlaced. He lets the grip stay, even almost clings to it. “So I took it. I… Started working. I was given full control because my academic brilliance was gobbled up very easily and full faith was instilled in me.” He gulps, eyes glazed. “I was allowed to schedule everything, detail down on instructions, suggest massive changes and like, they just _let me be_ , you know.” He laughs, heavy and watery because it _hurts_. “They let a nineteen year old egoistic kid who had only seen success and accomplishments all his life, frontline a show in Nottingham. Out there- In the goddamn _city_.” Malice drips now. 

He goes on though. 

“And then you know what happened?” Louis looks up, up at Harry’s pretty, pretty face jaded in moonlight and warmth. His hand has gone cold, held in a deathgrip and Louis just pushes, feels the way his stack of toothpicks fall, “And then, Harry, I _performed_. When the curtains got drawn, when the lights were all shining down on me, I performed to an audience of eight hundred strangers- of families, of children, of lovers, of… Of critics.” 

Louis feels his veins tighten as blood surges into his brain, fuzzing his vision round the corner. The sight is so, so vivid. Red curtains and plush seats and the air glimmering in excitement. The faces, so many of them, smattering across his vision. And then the _voices-_ the… The silence after the show ended. 

“You see, all your life you grow up being surrounded with this overwhelming, wonderful feeling of thrill. Like, constant thrill because you just know you’re good. You _know_ you’re gonna receive applause and smiles and compliments after flying through nineteen years of it.” Louis’ grip slackens, a dead weight clawing his insides, “The silence after the show ended that night proved me wrong though.” 

Discomforting silence weaves itself through the air, punching the air out of Louis’ lungs. 

“The critics tore me apart.” 

Harry’s façade immediately breaks as he inhales sharply, fingers instinctively clenching tighter. Louis doesn’t look up though. He can’t. 

“Apparently my narcissism was showing with the way I had structured the entire performance. Apparently, I was a self-centered youngster, a newbie who tried too hard to be in the limelight and ended up making a complete mockery of the show.” Louis quotes, straight out of his memory, raw and unscathed. The Guardian. “It was subconscious, though.” He shrugs, as if the attempt could make any amends. “I didn’t plan it to be that way. My ego did. 

“It took matters in its own hands and without realizing, without even attempting to really think through, had twisted the entire performance around one person.” Another shrug, limp and tired. “Me.” 

“ _Louis_.” Harry finally, finally speaks. It’s barely above a murmur and it’s almost pleading, almost like he’s scared of what Louis has to say next. 

“I’m not throwing myself a fucking pity party.” Louis laughs out, shaking his head, cold air gushing down his dry throat. It’s genuine laughter though, pained and frayed round the edges, but it doesn’t feel out of place. “That’s all really.” 

Strike One. 

That _isn’t_ all. No. But he doesn’t dare continue. 

“How did you end up here?” Harry mumbles, voice gentle and comforting. His hand is still encasing Louis’ and he doesn’t seem to have any plans on letting go any time soon. “From out there….” 

“I moved obviously. Packed my bags, bid adieu and ended up here.” 

Strike two. 

Because. Because that’s half a lie.

He can’t say all of it. Not when it hurts this bad- when his hand is being held by a pretty boy, and the after effects of all his words still pepper the cold air. 

Harry must have noticed the sudden abruptness of all of it with the way he raises a tentative eye, bordering on an ‘Oh _really_?’ kind of expression. Nevertheless, he doesn’t push or pry at all. Just as Louis had expected and taken advantage of for his own selfishness. 

He’s… Well, he _did_ just reveal so much. It should frighten him really, should make him wanna cower and run away; but it doesn’t. At all.

“And now….” Harry’s talking. He’s talking and he’s calming and it’s wonderful. So wonderful. “Now you’re basically pitting that failure against yourself even now because reality felt harsher than you’d presumed.” 

“ _Ever_.” Louis answers back. It’s said slightly breathlessly. “I can’t Harry. I can’t see myself beyond that now. It has transformed into this bitter, horrible feeling that I carry myself to work every single day-”

“Because you aren’t doing what you love!” Harry immediately retorts. He’s circling Louis’ hand with his thumb, fiery, burning circles. He seems adamant. “That’s how it is with passionate people. Serving beer bottles and lighting cigarettes isn’t exactly your area of passion, is it?” 

“Are you really asking _me_ that?” Louis laughs out, a burst of unforeseen light spilling through the lull as he tugs Harry’s hand, gaze still watery. 

“Louis…” Harry sort of drawls out, and it’s playful, it’s cheery and warm. Unlike the gravity of the subject in hand. “Louis, you’re wonderful, you know that right?” 

It’s said quietly, words simmering into solitude. 

Louis breathes out, shocked by how long he was holding his breath as he looks up at the face watching him with such piercing sincerity, ringlets of locks all dripping down the sides of Harry’s face as he makes an attempt to soothe Louis. He isn’t really saying anything, no. Yet there’s an inexplicable amount of power to it. 

“At least you now know _what the hell had happened_.” Louis directly quotes Harry there, words pasted with humor as he lets himself smile. 

“That doesn’t make you any less wonderful though.” 

Oh sweet Jesus. He isn’t letting go of this then. 

“You stupid fucking sap.” Louis laughs out because he’s blushing deep red, cold air clinging to his body cells whilst his insides are buzzing alive. 

Harry laughs in unison, light hearted and so, so much like the boy Louis had first met weeks and weeks ago. The clingy, annoying, curly stranger who simply refused to stop chatting up to him and was so unconventionally lovely and here- this is what it has led up to. They’re holding hands now, right after Louis had just spilled so much that he’d kept within icy, sealed lips for the longest time. 

They share laughs and smile and smile and smile till it loses meaning and Louis forgets how hurtful and guilt ridden he feels.

***

“You remember the Smoke Hole scene in IT?” 

“What?” 

They end up finding themselves sitting beside each other, backs pressing against the large, thick pillar. Louis’ jacket clings to his skin as his left side literally _burns_ with the feel of Harry’s warm body squashed beside him, their legs stretching out in front of them. 

“The smoke pit scene? When those kids had lit up a fire underground and stayed inside the smoke hole in an attempt to see visions of the monster? Like when it had descended earth?” Harry says it in one breath, smelling like sweet vanilla as he looks up at Louis, very bright and expectant. 

Oh. 

“I do remember that scene, yeah.” Louis stifles down a laugh, endeared by how odd and out of the blue the question is. It’s _so_ Harry. “What about it?” 

“I really liked it. The innocence and like… The impulsiveness of all of it.” Harry says, soft. “Like, none of the kids were fully sure of what was gonna happen right? They just built the underground pit, lit a fire and did whatever their instincts said was right. No proper planning, nothing at all.” 

“And… That’s why they were eleven year olds?” Louis raises an amused eye, at a complete loss of wherever this is going. 

“Yeah, but. But it’s still _something_ right?” Harry purses his lips together, set in a line as he continues. “It’s the way you choose to look at it. Depends on how you choose to delve into it.” and then he huffs, “I mean. I can relate to it.” Silence. 

What the fuck.

“You can relate to lighting smoke pits to summon monsters?” Louis asks, tone very serious. 

“Oh, I wish.” Harry laughs, bright. His legs stretch out in front of him, boots clicking together absently as he speaks. “But, no. I can relate the impulsiveness part of it though. The way practically everything in that story was done purely on instinct you know.”

What. 

"Um-"

“Sometimes you’ve just got to jump.” Harry continues, fast and jumpy, a manic sort of energy coloring his tone. His eyes sparkle, “Sometimes… Sometimes you’ve just got to take that leap and not expect anything at all. Just… Don’t look ahead, or barely trace where you’re going, barely look and sometimes… Sometimes when you’re really passionate about something Louis.” He looks at Louis, firm and beautiful. “You just take that one last leap.”

Oh wow. 

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean Harry.” Louis drifts, mouth agape as he watches Harry trace the movement, a sliver breathless. 

And then Harry’s ducking down, letting out a heavy sigh and pressing his head atop Louis’ shoulder, curls, curls, vanilla, cologne, all invading Louis’ senses as he inhales sharply. Harry’s head stays nestled there, soft and comfortable, warmth seeping through Louis’ entire body as he stares down, taken aback completely. 

“Someday you will.” Is all that Harry mumbles, crossing his arms and blinking sleepily, curls cradling Louis’ shoulders, spilling scents so soft and gentle, Louis wants to soak it all in, rub himself all over with it. 

They stay silent beside each other, calm and unmoving before Louis slowly lowers his own head, tentatively placing it over Harry’s as he feels soft giggles emanate out of the younger boy. He’s _giggling_. 

“Don’t giggle.” Louis scolds, fond and smiling as he lets himself stay. Head on head, shoulder to shoulder. It’s so wonderfully bizarre. 

“Giggling is of second nature to me.” Harry retorts, burying himself closer, a content smile on his face. 

“I know.” Louis whispers back. Barely above a hum.

***

Harry starts singing at one point. He’s a man full of surprises, asLouis has slowly come to realize. 

It’s when Louis is absently humming his favorite tune, barely aware of Harry’s keen ears absorbing all of it in silence. 

“Take me back to the night we met….” 

And there, Harry suddenly inhales deeply and sings (actually _sings_ ), voice louder, bolder and way more controlled than Louis could have ever imagined, “I had all and now none of you, some and now none of you.” He doesn’t move, considering the stuffy position they’re in, but belts out the lines nevertheless, fluent and melodious. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you…” 

So Louis joins in, ridiculously amazed and drunk on air and probably Harry, as they sing in unison, “Oh, take me back to the night we met…” 

The air whispers back an applause as their voices drift through the night, slow, exhausted and slurry but definitely there. Definitely jading the night in warm breaths and song notes. 

“Take me back to the night we met…” Louis hears Harry drawl out the last line, relishes the way his voice curls and liquifies through the air before withdrawing and melting into his bones. 

“You-” Louis says, a little bit astonished, “You’re a creative powerhouse Harry.” 

“Hm?” Harry mumbles, adorably sleepy. It’s pretty late but time has no real meaning when they’re sitting _like this,_ singing and whispering and bumping shoulders like this. 

“Sketching, singing, reading, giving deep philosophical advice; that’s you Harry.” 

“Deep philosophical advice.” Harry laughs out, like honey dripping. “But I think you’re creative too. Mr. Honors from Oxford.”

“Oh God.” Louis blushes an embarrassing shade of crimson. _Why_ did that have to be brought up? “And how did that end for me?” 

“Wonderfully actually.” Harry sits up abruptly, knocking Louis’ head as their heavy, exhausted heads almost collide. 

Harry’s bright and seething in indignance as he speaks. There’s a faint undertone of manic mischief hidden too. “Because it _hasn’t_ ended yet.” He whispers, as though it’s some huge, espionage-esque secret. 

Oh no. Oh fucking _no_. 

“Harry no, it’s not- this is it for me; this is how it is going to be-”

“Ssshh.” Harry’s finger shoots out and promptly presses over Louis’ lips, the weird, sudden intimacy taking him by storm. “Be patient little one.” He jabs, playful. 

There’s a glint to his eye, something fierce hidden behind his irises as Louis swallows, glancing down at the long fingers on his mouth, “I’m older than you.” He mumbles weakly, watching the rings glint. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Harry shoots back, sounding slightly childish as he quickly withdraws his hand and tucks himself back, snug against Louis’ side. 

It burns and Louis clings to it, letting his thoughts drift for the time being. He doubts he’s ready to part with this body beside his own anytime soon. 

***

It’s past 2 am when they find themselves wandering towards the gates, snug close beside each other as they make random conversation about the new book Harry’s reading. It was _Inferno_ , by Dan Brown and here, Louis is casually explaining one of his favorite scenes, all warm and buzzing with faint, electrifying energy- when the gates glint into view. 

“Oh.” Is all that escapes Louis’ lips, his grip around Harry’s arm immediately slackening as he comes to a standstill. 

It’s insane, the amount of power few iron grills can have on him. 

“You know.” Louis’ voice drops a few octaves lower, as he maneuvers Harry forward, towards the gates. He speaks only once they’re _right there_ , standing in front of it as the velvety sky arches above them. “I haven’t stepped out in a year.” 

“ _What_?” Harry immediately breathes out, genuinely astonished and Louis almost feels a sob wreck his weak, frail body. But amends are made quickly and in the form of soft touches and shy smiles as Harry flinches a bit, surprising himself, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound that way.” 

“Nah, no. It’s okay.” Louis squeezes the arm curled up around his own, lifting a heavy gaze to the iron grates, separating him from the utter chaos that lies beyond. 

It’s the same sight, really. Trees lining the pavement that stretches out and connects to the main road, with huge streetlamps erected on either side, a glorious, pale glow illuminating the shadows that run past. And then there’s the _sounds_ ; the cars, the whirring of engines, wheels skidding, some stranger drunkenly slurring on the streets, beer bottle in hand that tumbles after a while, the clinks sucked into the ruckus lying around every turn, every corner. 

“It’s... I can’t.” Louis shakes his head, the mere sight filling him with dread and such piercing pain, that he has to cling closer to Harry. “I can’t Harry. It’s all so fucking pathetic- I’m literally _right here_. Standing two feet away from what separates the Communitas from the city and yet, it’s-”

“You’ve associated it with chaos.” Harry interjects, smooth and calm. He doesn’t look pitiful as such- much to Louis’ utter relief; but it’s like he’s trying hard to access the whole thing within that shiny, wonderful brain of his. All books, music, bizarre jokes and family tales, Louis can barely imagine how insane his own pettiness would be to Harry. 

“It’s… noise.” Louis shakes his head, fumbling through the static that drapes his mind. Chaos, chaos, chaos. “It’s memories and so, so much of chaos; I can barely grasp the fact that…. That there are so many youngsters out there, _like me,_ probably setting on the same path and working, pushing, _bleeding_ through all of it Harry.” He’s tripping over the words, stumbling over them and falling through an abyss. “And the fact that I was there once, part of it… And I fell. I gave up.” 

Harry looks sort of torn apart; a little bit frayed round the edges. It’s sweet, the way he looks so concerned, and yet he’s really trying to be the stronger one here. A devastatingly, gloriously cliché sight it is. 

“Yet you push yourself out of bed every morning, work for ten hours a day, earn a living; all of it while handling the chaos in there-” Harry taps a gentle finger to Louis’ temple, eyes sifting over his face, “-as well as pushing away that one thing you’re really passionate about; all because you fell.” 

“Passion is subjective Harry.” Louis replies, a little weak. “I loved acting, of course I did. But it’s not something I can’t force away for the sake of being realistic-”

“What’s so unrealistic about it?” Harry retorts, voice unwaveringly, painfully gentle. 

Louis’ mouth snaps shut. It’s not just the question that baffles him, it’s the surging fierceness that runs strongly beneath it, Harry seems dead serious about it. Like he’s…. He’s trying to prove a point. 

“Wanting to pursue something you’re passionate about isn’t unrealistic.” Harry says, his jaw firmly set.

“Yeah, but falling to your knees and being dragged through criticism after years of success in that _one_ field you genuinely love; and then being expected to get up again _is_ unrealistic.” Louis shoots back. He’s trembling a bit. It isn’t a good sign because he’s getting horribly defensive then and no- he doesn’t want to be bitter, as well as an absolute jerk now. 

“Louis…” Harry looks pale in the moonlight. He’s trying to be of help, trying to be the wonderful sap he is. “You aren’t expected to get right back up, that’s not what I mean. You’re human too.” 

Yeah. Oh yeah, he is. Very much so. 

It’s an oddly comforting statement nevertheless so Louismanages to give a small, grateful smile. Cold air lashes against the gates, rattles the iron bars and curls around them in a deathgrip as Harry breathes in sharply, “And sometimes… Respect that human side of yourself. It’s okay to fall to your knees, it’s okay to like, hate every damn part of something big in your life- it’s what makes you human Louis. Even _bitterness_ makes you human.” He glances towards Louis, a tad bit playful, “And I can assure you, you are one _hell_ of a human.” 

“The fuck is that even supposed to mean?” Louis stifles down a laugh, joyous at how utterly ridiculous a lot of what Harry says is. Not all of it no, but it’ll probably take forever for Louis to actually process most of it. 

_‘“Even bitterness makes you human.”_

“You, Louis Tomlinson, are one hell of a human.” Harry knocks his side a bit, very smug and content, “I need you to embrace that.” 

“The fact that I’m human like every other person is?” 

“The fact that you fell and you’re bitter and angered now- exactly the way every other human in your place is expected to be.” Harry says, the words coming very easily to him, “Be a little gentle to yourself Lou, _feeling_ isn’t wrong.” 

Lou. Okay, so Louis has to even deal with a nickname now. As if his mind hasn’t just withered to a mess of emotions and lumpy, breathless awe already. 

“You say such really wonderful stuff sometimes.” Louis punctuates the breathy sentence with a smile; and because he’s absolutely _gone_ , he even goes to tuck a stray curl behind Harry’s ear. “A little creative powerhouse.” 

“Mr. Honors from Oxford.” Harry immediately retorts, smug and grinning. 

Louis feels a peal of laughter escape his lips, an odd contrast to the subject at hand. It’s okay though, at least he doesn’t feel like the air might swallow him whole.

“Harry, Harry, Harry.” Louis finds himself mumbling, a little bit enamored by really just everything. He leans into Harry’s hold and rests his head on his shoulder, too tired to be taken aback by the easiness that surrounds the action. He stares blankly for a bit, aware of Harry’s warm scent all over him as he watches the crystalline moonlight falling towards the pavements, trees swaying gently; an occasional honk and skidding of tires from beyond cuts through in intervals and there- _that_ is what Louis is afraid of. 

The actual chaos. 

“You’re a very human human.” Louis hears Harry whisper, his own eyelids drooping sleepily as they sway on the spot. Harry’s voice is heavy, “A fucking beautiful one.” 

Louis smiles into the after effect the words leave. The night shines bright.

***

Louis had to watch Harry leave after a while. It’s a crime against humanity, that. 

He pushes down lumps and lumps of rising emotions and so, so many feelings coursing down his bloodstream now as he presses his face into his couch the same night, once he gets home- once he watched Harry smile one last time and walk out of the gates. Those _bloody_ gates. 

Louis inhales the musky fragrance of his unwashed couch, tugs on the duvet, kicks at nothingness and writhes for hours because everything feels so out of hand. Everything feels so frighteningly huge now because Harry _knows_. 

He knows why Louis cries through bouts of stress that descends on him through painful nights, he knows the reason why Louis hurts and throbs and feels sore when the sheer _enormity_ of just…everything makes an appearance. He knows the reason why Louis doesn’t sleep for days on end and instead mulls and mulls and cowers and hides and refuses to let go completely. 

Harry knows and Harry cares. 

There’s a gentle rustle in the background, marring the periphery of Louis’ tear stricken, frustrated face and oh yeah- there’s that too. The glossy paper under the vase; the one he has refused to touch at all because he’ll _break-_ he’ll crumble in the face of that one last tangible piece of evidence of his fall from success. 

He isn’t touching that, no. 

Louis almost feels a pull of irrational longing too when he shifts to his empty side, floorboards creaking under his couch as he digs deeper into the duvet. He almost wished he had invited Harry over- almost. It’s so gloriously stupid. 

Harry has a whole life out there, that pretty little head and sharp brain of his can do him wonders, and really- Louis has no right to draw him back. No right _at all._

So he puts himself to sleep while kicking and cursing and swallowing down the heat of burning want blooming in his belly as the night swirls to a deeper blue, and the winds whistle to him a sad, obnoxious tune. 

***

The next three days are a blur- utter, mushed chaos. 

Because Harry does infact stick to his word and makes a glorious appearance every evening after that, even when Louis isn’t working. He comes in, with his good old drawing book tucked to his side, bathed in light of the early moon that draws higher into the sky through the minutes that pass. 

“You’re here.” Louis feels the smile come automatically to him as he catches Harry absentmindedly strolling around near the gates with his drawing book open in one hand as he sketches quietly, focused on his work. He doesn’t ever completely stop drawing. Ever. It’s very little considering all the time Louis takes up but he doesn’t seem like he’s in a rush at all. 

“You really can’t get rid of me.” Harry replies, a little smug as his eyes brighten a bit the moment he catches sight of Louis standing in his tattered windbreaker, hands in his pockets and a tiny bit shy. It’s so stupid. 

“Nah, no, I don’t want to either.” Louis is already bounding up to him with way more confidence than he could ever imagine himself mustering. “Today, I’m showing you around.” He announces, grabbing Harry by the arm and guiding him forward, “Showing you around this little community that I’ve somehow come to call home.” 

Harry’s smile is large and enthusiastic. 

And so, Louis does. He takes Harry to every small park within the Communitas decorated in flowers, vines and lilies that float on the surface of tiny ponds, to every veranda where Bingo games are held, to the shuttered grocery stores and retail shops, through every alleyway and cold street and even to that one large playground with a swing neatly constructed in the center that is barely used (“Reminds me of like, a typical haunted scene. Deserted playground, creaky swing and all.” Harry had whispered very seriously as Louis barked out a laugh, “These are not creaky.”) So to prove his point, Louis even went on to sit on the swings, dangling at a moderately steep height as he moved back and forth, highly aware of how absolutely ridiculous he looked. But Harry didn’t mind(he never minds) ashe just laughed and encouraged (“Mr. Honors from Oxford is sitting on a children’s swing!”) and clapped his hands and even went on to squish himself next to Louis because that’s probably the most Harry thing in the world. 

The swing is large enough for the both of them though and it _does_ creak much to Louis’ amusement- so of course, he immediately scrambled in defense. “It’s two of us, that’s why.” 

“Absolutely not. Straight out of some cheap horror movie this one.” 

“You know, I don’t take any swing slander.” 

“Anything to defend this lovely place aha! You really love your little home don’t you?” Harry laughed out, giving up. He looks gorgeous in the lavender sweater he’d pulled on, all delicate limbs and hands and snug next to Louis. It matches well with the gloves stitched with small flowers; the one he wears every day. 

“That’s debatable. Love is a big word.” Louis shrugs. Thinking for a moment because yeah, no. It’s very, very easy to hate the Communitas sometimes. 

Harry watches with calm eyes, green and greys catching the light as leans a little and speaks, “It gets suffocating sometimes?” There’s a higher level of concern there than anything. Harry’s really, really trying to test the waters here and not delve straight into anything too painful- and _fuck_ , Louis realizes it. It’s so adorably apparent. 

“It does, yeah. Gets very lonely and like… Makes me really hate it sometimes.” Louis mumbles out, hand tightening around the steel chain he’s holding to. The swing sways a bit and Harry’s knee angles a bit, a welcoming touch on Louis’ own jittery one. 

Harry doesn’t really say anything then. He lets Louis breathe without flooding the silence with too many, unnecessary words. “Still did keep you when you needed it.” Harry whispers, slightly breathless. 

“It _does_.” Louis breathes out, the realization settling warmly within him. “Hell yeah it does.” 

The silence lingers on for a little longer, trees rustling silently as few birds chirp a joyous tune in the distance, making Louis shift a bit, averting his head towards the sounds. A whiplash of cold air hits them as Louis speaks, “You don’t really get such birds in the city, none of them sing for you there.” 

As though to emphasize, another long melodious chirp emanates from the trees as Harry quirks his head to the side, a little amused, “You do actually. But chaos reigns so you can barely notice it.” 

“And that’s why you like it here instead.” Louis smiles, watching the warm way with which Harry is observing him, “I sometimes forget we’re still within the same city. It’s so, so bizarre.” 

“Yeah.” Harry breathes out, knocking their knees together as more wind blows across. It’s bloody arctic. “There’s far more warmth in here-with you- despite how isolated the whole place is.” He says, very earnest. 

“Is it now?” Louis watches Harry carefully, moonlight catching on his curls. He leans to touch that stray ringlet that falls gracefully near his ear, before smiling through the sentence, “Me, my lemonade and you.” He sing-songs playfully. 

“Minus the lemonade right now, but- exactly.” Harry beams, catching Louis’ arm with his own hands, warm and burning. His gaze blends into something so intense, it makes Louis inhale sharply. Soundlessly, so. “Exactly.” 

The birds around chirp louder in unison with their cold breaths. 

***

“Your hair is growing.” Louis offhandedly comments the next day as they sit beside each other on the same veranda, legs crossed. 

It has been hours since they’d laid there, legs sprawled and eyes bleary as they talked and talked and talked on and on about _Inferno_ ; Louis giving him all the liberty in the world to vent out every miniscule thought of his. So, so many thoughts. Harry is so full of wonder, he really knows how to admire all the smaller aspects, tiny details that Louis would never even bother glancing at. But Harry notices and Harry speaks. 

“Is it?” Harry quips, only a tiny bit tired considering all the breathless words they’d exchanged. He consciously touches his hair, letting his fingers run through the locks before deciding, “I should tie it up.” 

“It isn’t _that_ long yet.” Louis reaches, using his thumb to trace his cheekbone where few curls spill haphazardly, “Probably won’t fit.” 

“We can try?” Harry prods, a little insistent as he digs through his jeans pockets and there- a hair tie. The boy even carries a hair tie around with him. 

“Oh wow.” Louis laughs out, slightly stricken. He instinctively reaches forward and takes the hair tie into his own hand before leaning in, on his knees and bunching Harry’s hair gently, as locks slip off his fingers, “This is a _lot_ of hair.” 

“I haven’t cut them in ages.” Harry shifts a little, giving more access to Louis who carefully tries bunching up the strands as silken hair falls all over, slipping through his fingers. It’s a lot harder than he’d expected. The realisation is strangely endearing and it settles warmly, deep within his chest. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” Harry mocks, playful around the edges. 

“Of course I do. I had five sisters growing up so it was a thing at home. I’d help mum get them ready for school.” Louis promptly replies. He cards his fingers through haphazardly before realizing that probably Harry’s hair is a little too short after all. All of it won’t fit. A horrible, sad thought, that. 

“Oh wow- that would’ve been chaotic. Five is a lot.” Harry replies, his eyes on the moon, smelling of vanilla and a damp, night scent. “Were you the oldest?” 

“I was, yeah.” Louis feels something go sour in his insides. The topic is a tiny bit precarious to touch down on actually, his family- it’s…. He doesn’t really miss the way his stomach swoops sickeningly every time. 

Harry isn’t even saying anything. He’s very, very patient that way; a little too much probably. He never pushes words out of Louis and hell- he must have a few questions _at least_. Harry can be quite guarded himself unless he’s really passionate about something and it’s only then that words start flowing straight out (give him a horror or thriller movie or book and he’ll talk for _hours_.) Apart from that, it’s all very unhurried and slow with him, everything captured in the blues of the evening and languid swirls in his deep voice and yeah… Louis finds everything about him very perplexing sometimes. 

“In case you were wondering, I don’t actually speak to my family now.” Louis clears his throat and concentrates on the bunches of hair held in each hand, determined not to let his eyes up. His hands shake a bit, “It wasn’t any huge fight or anything, nothing so like- dramatic, no. They were all very surprised by my whole dramatic fall from grace; more than even I was probably. They didn’t expect things to take such a drastic turn for me. It was a huge blow for them too.” 

It’s all very distinct in Louis’ mind. Pale, shell shocked faces sitting around the Tomlinsons’ dining area, his mother holding an article in her delicate hands and looking a little too nervous for anyone’s good whilst his sisters milled around, confused and cold in their mittens. And Louis was pacing, scrunched up and agitated and seething as he had fought down sentences over sentences, retorts, excuses- anything, damn it. Because Louis Tomlinson does _not_ fall, he does not have to watch his family look horrified and overwhelmed and even almost scared? Like, genuinely terrified because _what now_? What happens after the pieces are all that’s left behind and the dust settles and realization of all the humiliation and the sudden dip in interest in him- it’s _him_ , the personification of academic brilliance, damn it- begins settling in? What then? 

“I left. I couldn’t stay there knowing that I won’t be able to earn anything for them. Being jobless and broken wasn’t ever a part of how I’d ever seen myself. Ever.” Louis absently runs his fingers through the hair, unaware of what he’s even doing at this point. “Told them I needed some time off to sort myself out and yeah- it’s been a year since then. Mum used to call at least once in a few weeks in the beginning but uh, now it’s-”

Then the hair between Louis’ fingers is suddenly gone, cold wind momentarily numbing his fingers and he’s barely able to even register anything before the strong scent of vanilla and cologne assaults all his senses. It knocks him breathless for a full ten seconds, the world blurring and deblurring around the edges before Louis manages to actually register what’s happening. 

Harry. He’s hugging him. 

It’s done with such fervent desperation, with such insistence as though _Harry’s_ the one desperate for comfort; and he’s clinging, clinging, clinging, his arms firm and solid around Louis’ neck, his chest rising and falling, beat after beat, Louis finds his own heart thud against Harry’s. He gives in. 

There’s no real discomfort at all and they fit- it’s such a weird thought; but they do mould together freakishly well. Harry’s warm and sweet smelling and all the hair that was in Louis’ hands just mere seconds ago is now pressed beside his face, so oddly comforting. 

“I’m sorry. Family can be such a hard topic and for you….” Harry mumbles into his ear, it’s barely even there and the sound drifts away, sucked up by the chaos surrounding Louis’ mind. 

Louis presses closer, unable to bring out the words and letting himself savor this instead. Savor how solid and warm and incredible the boy in his arms is. 

They stay that way for a long time probably because Louis’ hands now twitch a bit as he holds onto Harry’s delicate waist and breathes him in, shaky and watery but he’s glad that he can _feel_. He’s glad that Harry is holding him the way he is. He’s glad he still remembers how to feel. 

“Harry?” 

"Mmmh?" 

“Are you dosing on my shoulder?’ 

“It’s a nice shoulder.” Harry mumbles into his collarbones, breath warm and sweet against the cold wind perpetually surrounding them, nipping at Louis’ ankles while the rest of his body positively _burns_. 

“You’re a nice everything.” Louis laughs into Harry’s hair, overwhelmed by all of it. The moon is smirking down at them, ha. 

Harry’s probably blushing because he only clings closer, syrupy and slow- it has been so long since Louis even remembers what physical touch felt like. Barely remembers the last time he’d hugged anyone for this long, this…. Intimate, almost. 

“I’m sure they don’t hate me Harry, my family.” Louis finds himself saying, attempting to dispel any uneasiness that still lingers between them. This is _their_ moment, it isn’t everyday that Harry’s entire body is clinging to Louis’. He feels a little wistful. “Mum brought us all up by herself, and she’d been that one constant audience through all my highs; always there for me. Always cheering and God, the faith she had in me- it’s insane sometimes. She never… Never thought I’d ever falter.” He adds, words spilling with wetness, “I was _made_ to fly high, but-”

“You still are.” Harry presses, his voice rumbling very close. “There aren’t any ‘buts’ there. You are just as competent as ever.” 

Oh Harry. 

“Leave it to you to hype me up every damn time.” Louis laughs, his voice immediately falling into a soft whisper. He’s probably going to melt into a puddle and disintegrate right within Harry’s arms right now. “It’s okay Haz. Something might change in the future, who knows.” 

That’s a lie. Nothing’s changing at the rate Louis is currently going. He’s still a bitter, bitter mess- 

“How far away is the future exactly?” Harry asks, breathing heavily. He’s a little annoyed beneath the surface, Louis feels it in the way his body grows tense. “How much longer till you bring change Louis?” He pushes. Again. “Or at least believe in it?” 

Louis stiffens. Too many questions, too much of everything.

He can’t go back. How- it’s so much. How the hell does Harry even harbor all of that baseless hope for him? _Him_?? 

“You think I can go back to the city?” Louis feels the edge in his voice, the way his tone cuts through the blades of frost lingering around them. “You think I’m capable of that Harry?” It’s slightly harsh but Harry takes no notice. 

“I think you do feel the temptation yourself.” Harry replies, smooth as butter. “That’s how passion works, you do want to go back to doing what you love, but- you’re scared.” 

“Scared that I’ll be ripped apart again and not have the strength to get up.” Louis retorts. 

“And if you don’t even try taking that first leap, nothing’s ever changing. Ever.” 

Well. _That’s_ harsh. 

But… It hits. 

“Can we go back to doing your hair?” Louis gulps down, his voice huskier than ever. “Please? I’ll make a half bun.” 

It’s said so pathetically and yay, that’s what Louis is right? He’s pathetic when he’s confronted and fear _reigns-_ hell yeah, it precedes everything else. 

_“Nothing’s ever changing. Ever.”_

The words come back, terrifyingly so and Louis squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Harry’s body soften around his. “Okay.” 

The word drops and simmers to nothing. Louis feels every bolt of emotion that hits him. 

They slowly part, a little wistful and guilty as Louis grapples with the hair tie and focuses- _focus_ Tomlinson. _Focus_. He is better than this. _This_ is his life. That’s all. 

_“Nothing’s ever changing. Ever.”_

No. 

Louis swallows another bout of sheer terror as he searches for Harry’s locks instead, searches for the seams and all the endings where it curls and musses it up a bit as he smiles, small and searching, searching for that one loud echo above everything. It’s longing and… And Hopeful. 

***

“Remember what I told you about the Smoke Hole thing?” Harry asks, his arm slung around Louis’ waist as they walk towards the Gates, arms entangled and breathing a little labored. It’s very late and well- Louis has work tomorrow. The dreadful cycle starts again. 

At least. At least Harry will be there- and he’s here too! Right now. 

Louis’ chest swells a bit. “How you somehow manage to relate to it?” He teases. 

“Yeah- no. Well okay, kind of.” Harry laughs as his heels click on the cement, a 

chic sound in comparison to Louis’ rude scruffs. He’s warm and the night is bright. “So when I said that sometimes you just _jump_? Take that leap?” Hopeful, twinkling eyes reach Louis’, far brighter than the moon above them. Harry is edging towards manic- he looks unconventionally bold sometimes. 

They’re at the Gates now, the city looming just beyond Louis’ reach as he lets go of Harry, well aware that he’s still expected to respond by the piercing gaze on him. “Yeah?” He weakly asks. 

“It works wonders actually.” Harry simply replies, exhausted eyes brimming in bubbling energy- calm benevolence mostly. 

Louis feels Harry pull away when he doesn’t respond, too lost and tired; balancing on a precipice he doesn’t even remember climbing. There’s actual burning hope on one side and it’s licking fiercely, smoldering his ankles, calling him _in-_ the mere fact that he’s able to envision something beyond blacks and greys is enough to make his entire body convulse. 

“Works wonders.” Harry’s smile is soft as he brushes fingertips along Louis' elbow, dragging the touch for a bit before pulling away completely and unlocking the gate instead. Metal creaks over metal, horribly clashing with the nocturnal silence and Louis is just standing there, really, really lost. 

_“Sometimes you’ve just got to take that leap and not expect anything at all.”_

Harry said that two days back and there… That’s all it is right? All his life Louis had only expected and envisioned and dreamed- he never did anything without the expectation of a million glorious outcomes attached to it. He never went down a smoke hole just for the sake of it. Just to _try_. 

“Harry-” Louis starts when he thinks he can feel again- but no. 

Harry’s gone, diminished to a speck walking on the pavement across, beyond the gates, hands in his pockets, hair pulled up in that messy half bun Louis had tied for him. He’s outside now. 

Louis doesn’t call out, doesn’t dare. He just watches Harry walk on and on, his beautiful, delicate figure growing smaller and smaller as he turns into the main road and disappears completely. 

Louis feels his heart wither to nothing, liquifying and leaking into the concrete. Down, down, down. Something burning hot rests in its place, fitting in wholly. 

Hope, probably. 

A current of burning, unfamiliar hope. 


	3. Chapter 3

The voices stop reaching entirely.

It had almost been a routine, all this time. Louis was so used to the feeling of his body growing hot and sticky and the night wailing in its wake every time he’d return home, everytime he’d kick off his shoes and climb on to his couch in the hopes of getting some actual rest.

_“Truly a disastrous attempt, with a very amateur Louis Tomlinson at the forefront, showing exactly what a complete mockery of theatre looks like.”_

His producer had read it out loud the day after the show had ended. Louis was all of nineteen, pale and broken and confused as he’d swallowed down headline after headline sadistically thrown at his face as the rest of the cast stood by, heads down and bodies stiff.

All because Louis had been trusted and his inexperience had shown. Fucking _proven_.

And so every night was a battle after that, every night was when Louis’ thoughts grew too loud, too ruthless and he was pelted with the words- the goddamn _words_ that burned and simmered through his ego. Words that cut and chipped and bruised and no amount of alcohol could dilute the turmoil boiling beneath his skin.

It’s all cruel, all of it ruthless and unnecessary and plain bullshit, really; Louis used to think to himself every single time because defensiveness was of second nature to him. There’s _no_ way he’s completely at fault here, right? Louis Tomlinson can never be brought down on his knees. Can never be dragged through lowly critics who don’t know _half_ of him.

And that’s…… That’s where everything went wrong.

Louis realizes it on a weekday evening when his hands smell of disinfectant and damp suds as he almost jerks up, elbow hitting the cold granite and immediately prompting a scowl. Brainstorming at work isn’t the best idea probably.

It’s a week after work had resumed again and Louis was dragged out of the little, fairy dust sprinkled cloud of HarryHarryHarry he’d been living in for the three days of his leave and propelled back into reality instead. So, so harsh.

Harry still comes in every evening though, just like he did all these weeks with his pretty book and gorgeous clothes and kind face… He’s- Well, Louis doesn’t quite know what he’d do if he didn’t have Harry around. He doesn’t know if he can handle the emptiness, cold and bleak and terrifying that’ll settle if he doesn’t get to see this curly boy every single day.

The mere thought of Harry’s absence even on a single day is enough to make Louis’ entire being stir alive in nervous, painful energy.

 _When_ did this even happen?

Because see, Harry’s presence is the one and only bright speck that shines bold through Louis’ grey, mundane living and however terrifying that is; Louis still clings to it with all the reverence he can work up. There’s nothing more he can feel.

“Oh wow…” Louis murmurs to himself as he pulls himself away from the table he was cleaning. Everything is etched in greys and blue and it’s nearly mid December already, the sun had dipped into darkness hours ago, leaving behind only wind. Cold, unforgiving wind.

Louis feels realization. It’s so sudden, so dramatic, out of practically nowhere, but- he…. He _deserved_ to have fallen.

Winds rattle outside the windows as the pub door jingles open and few customers milling in, wrapped in coats and cigarette smoke. Louis feels his hands shake a bit as he drags himself away from the table completely, glancing towards Harry’s quiet, concentrated figure further away, soundlessly drawing into his book. He’d finished reading _Inferno_ the night before and had burst into the pub with bright, excited eyes, waiting for Louis to beckon over so he could speak. Louis loves it, he loves the attention. The enthusiasm.

“Louis.” Another monotone voice breaks in, crippling Louis’ train of thought as he stumbles a bit and jerks immediately in the face of the figure in front of him.

Oh. Stan.

“Hello to you too Stan.” Louis perks up, appearing amused as Stan casts him an unimpressed look, his usual short hair has crept below his neck for the first time in ages. He’s sort of like a tall gnome sometimes.

“You’ve been very busy.” Stan continues, humming a bit. He has a bottle in hand and he’s rolling it around his palms slowly; an attempt to appear intimidating probably. How petty.

Louis’ feels slightly giddy, “Have I? What’s up?”

“I noticed you’ve made an acquaintance.” Stan jumps straight to the point, unexpectedly so and heh. This is so typical of him, if Louis really thinks of it.

“With a… _Customer_?” He throws a glance towards Harry, tentative.

“Harry. He has a name, it’s Harry.” Louis finds himself hurrying with the words, burning protectiveness making an appearance, “How does it matter? You always called me a bitter, bitter man Stan; so here’s someone who shares that bitterness with me now.” He sounds proud.

“Oh, your soulmate then?” Stan raises an amused eyebrow. He isn’t even teasing, just genuinely perplexed.

Louis ignores the way his stomach had positively swooped at that and instead replies, “What’s your problem?”

Something cold hardens behind Stans’ gaze at that as he makes a sudden move and swoops right past Louis, towards the further end of the Café, which- _Harry_.

“Woah, woah. Not so fast.” Louis feels his feet move way faster than his mind can even process any of it and he’s stumbling towards Harry, towards Stan, uncertain of what to even expect.

But Stan is quick as he stumbles in front of Harry, a large diplomatic smile on his face, “Goodevening sir.”

What.

Louis feels his skin grow prickly hot for no rational reason. Harry looks up from his book, mouth slightly agape, his white t-shirt stretching across his collar blades as he resembles closely what a deer in headlights would look like.

“Uh, hi.” Harry smiles, slow and confused. His words have an edge which Louis’ can’t really figure out.

“So sir, you live in the city?” Stan asks, straight up. He’s a horrible, fucking vile creature, Louis decides. “Or are you from the Communitas?”

Shameless.

“I am from the city.” Harry presses out the words, his lips red, slightly perplexed. His lemonade glass lies empty in front of him and Louis feels the urge to make one more for him. Anything for him.

“Same here actually.” Stan smiles through the words. It’s a pointy, mean smile. He’s silent for a few seconds, murmur filtering in from their surroundings as he runs a tentative glance down Harry’s resolute face. Leave it to Stan to shamelessly stare and make people uncomfortable.

Louis’s about to speak, about to break the ice and whisk Harry away from this disaster of a conversation before Stan speaks again, very slow, “Have I… Have we ever met?” His eyes are narrow.

What now.

This is literally the Shimms’ situation all over again and no- Louis isn’t taking any more of that. Harry being from the city does _not_ translate to people randomly putting him in uncomfortable situations like these. What the hell is he to even say?

“Are you serious?” Louis finds himself pressing, his tone harsh. Harry looks up at him, sunshine in his smile as Stan frowns to himself. Glasses and plates tinkle in the background and Louis is vaguely aware that they should get back to work. Stan looks at Louis squarely, just plain confused, “I’m sorry man, I just.. You look familiar.” He glances back down at Harry’s bunched up figure.

Louis feels something unfamiliar pull at his gut.

“Probably, yeah. I don’t really know.” Harry says simply, his face pulled into a neutral expression that is far, far beyond Louis’ reach.

Few seconds of plain, awkward silence pass by where Louis half contemplates smashing the bottle in Stans’ grip with his own bare hands- until a customer calls Stan. “Refill!” Is all Louis can hear, a rude gruffy tone that immediately makes Stan jerk and amble away, a little lost in his movements.

Well. Then.

“Everyone’s trying to steal you away from me!” Louis unabashedly flails his arms and grits out, flopping down behind the counter and angling himself towards Harry’s warm gaze. “It’s so hard for people to believe that even I’m capable of keeping pretty boys with curly hair.”

Whoops.

“I’m pretty?” Harry’s smirking, he’s totally smirking as he throws a sideways glance. Pretentious little bastard.

“I mean, I’m really not denying that am I?” Louis finds himself warming up immediately and yes- this is great. This feels familiar.

“You’re very pretty too.” Harry quips out, happy as ever.

Louis stills his racing heart, “Harry, I reek of beer and disinfectant.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re Louis Tomlinson though.”

“And what the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?”

“Everything about Louis Tomlinson is pretty.” Harry’s open- even flirtatious, and his grin is absolutely blinding. “A very pretty human.”

Louis feels the amusement drain out of face, sucked away and leaving behind a void within which he feels so oddly suspended. His heart is beating in his ears and oh wow, this is- this is insane.

“The things you say sometimes Harry.” Louis finds himself mumbling out the words, overwhelmed by the enormity of everything Harry pelts at him. It’s so ruthless and all Louis wants to do is hold on to every sentence till his skin bleeds and he feels every word in his veins.

“It’s everything you deserve to hear actually, nothing too enormous about it.” Harry almost speaks his thoughts, everything around him catching in muted grey light and dark, bleary shadows. “And.” He leans forward, not giving a damn about Louis’ soppy hand and going on to lace their fingers. Somewhere, miles away from the confines of the pub, Louis almost watches the moon give them a silent bow. “And I’m not going to stop saying such stuff till you acknowledge how deserving you are.”

Louis feels his knees give away. But he manages to stay upright.

“You’re going to get chemicals on your hand.” Louis laughs out throatily, at a complete loss of air, of words, of anything. Harry’s hand is firm. “What-”

Harry looks flabbergasted as he laughs and pulls his hand away. The intensity of the moment has broken though and Louis can breathe a little, the gravity having eased out; everything bright, bright, bright. “I’m going to carry home traces of this place tonight. It’s a very poetic thought.”

“Innit.” Louis winks because he can, because he’s so, so utterly gone.

And so. It is wonderful. It is truly, uncharacteristically _wonderful_ to a point where Louis finds himself sleeping with hints of bleary smiles on his lips, with the after effects of the feel of Harry’s fingers on his own, with the feeling of every point where Harry touches him on his waist when they walk out from the pub together every night.

“I was thinking of watching a horror movie again tonight.” Harry would casually say, arm warm and twining around Louis.

“You just finished a thriller book, someone’s being daring today.” Louis smirks. It’s ironic since this is exactly how _he_ was as a youngster- perpetually looking for thrill and anything to keep his senses on an edge. He used to be absolutely unabashed about it as well, refusing to admit if a particular movie ever actually succeeded in giving him the chills as all his mates would hoot and yell and try and weasel words out of him. “That wasn’t bad at all.” He’d say, bold as ever just because he could and because he was on top of the world in every aspect in his hands. He always, always learnt to stay brave in the face of every situation; learnt to stand his guard and play defense when he had to. That was all until the first, _actual_ blow hit.

Harry’s grip on his waist is firm and grounding. Even their height difference is strangely comforting, “I still have your chamomile tea recipe as a backup.” He says around a shy smile, “I’m going down a smoke hole after all, it’s fun not knowing what to expect.”

Smoke Hole. Oh wow.

“How did you even _manage_ to associate two of that!?” Louis scoffs out. He feels coldness creep up his fingertips as he digs them into Harry’s waist. His eyes avert upwards, towards Harry’s gaze as the night twinkles in his peripherals.

“Throwing yourself in Louis!” Harry looks manic as he pulls himself away with a sudden jerk, throwing himself forward and twirling on the pavement. “It’s... Everything is a smoke hole if you’re not looking for anything at all.” He sways a bit, moonlight curving his waist, trickling through his hair, “Sometimes that’s the best thing you can do. Not seek, not look, just-“

“Throw yourself in?” Louis is grinning wide, his cheeks crinkling with the effect as he finds adrenalin gush through him. He pulls himself towards Harry, their faces nearly colliding but Harry's quick and smooth to angle his arms and slide a hand around his waist instead- holding the other arm up, fingers interlaced.

“Throw yourself in.” Harry agrees, breathing into the night, into Louis’ face, warm air brushing his cold lips. He smells sweet like vanilla.

Louis finds himself swaying, hypnotic and drunk on Harry’s smile, Harry’s touch, Harry’s warmth as they hold each other, one arm held up and the other twining around their bodies. The air whistles a bit, moonlight blinking down as it watches their languid, bleary movements. Swaying, swaying, swaying.

“Take me back to the night we met..” Harry prompts, a little mischievous. He’s very close, everything burns in the wake of his touch and Louis is only pulling him closer.

“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.” Louis sings out, his throat dry and soul inebriated as he lets himself sway to his own words, music tinkling at the back of his mind.

“Take me back to the night we met.” Harry’s voice is soft and baritone, rippling through Louis’ pulse as he pulls closer. Louis immediately feels the axis tilt and realign just as his vans hit Harry’s boots. A weight settles in and his head immediately sinks, lower, lower, lower, burying into Harry’s broad shoulder as he exhales. It’s so, so overwhelming; the balance has shot straight to hell.

“Harry.” Louis’ voice stretches out, broken and longing as he clings to the body around him, clings for dear life. It’s the one source of comfort that melds right into his bones, warm and unquestioning.

_“Everything is a smoke hole if you’re not looking for anything at all.”_

Harry’s words beam back, louder than ever and that’s.. There _are_ answers to everything Louis wants to cry out, everything he wants to wail into the earth. Hope is breaking through the surface.

Harry doesn’t speak, only provides all the warmth his large, firm body can offer. Arms, breaths and heavy hearts thudding in unison as Louis sways to the feeling, sways to the music that is breathed into his skin. Hope. There is hope.

Harry will catch him if he falls again.

***

It’s a peaceful night. One of slow, drowsy eyes and loose limbs as Louis lets himself sleep. It isn’t so loud, the walls don’t cave in, the voices are cut off somewhere far away, lax and uneven.

Louis feels his body flush and warm as he fights down smiles, smushing his face into the couch and drowsily wincing every time he feels the air brush past his arms, his bare hips where his t-shirt curls up- everywhere Harry had held him as they swayed.

He’s sick. Probably.

Because he doesn’t react even when the pamphlet ruffles, when it flutters and mocks him from a few meters away, from underneath the vase. Right there, coated in grime and dust, untouched.

Louis can only feel, can only smile, can only breathe. Nothing else matters; he’s probably having a stroke from the way his lungs hitch every time his thoughts drift away… Towards the nicer, warmer memories of the day.

He sleeps with the feeling still fresh, unscathed by anything else.

***

To Louis, happiness was something that had grown to become so far away, so intangible in his eyes since the day he’d zipped up his last suitcase, and carried it with shivering hands as he’d walked out of home.

Happiness wasn’t something he’d even _expected-_ he isn’t foolish. Lost, crumbled, wandering but never foolish.

He always gave into it, always fed into the drips of blue that melted into every bright scene, always fed into the sadder parts of life ever since everything blew apart. It’s easy see, it’s easy to give into what feels heavy and what clamps down when one’s lost and scared- Louis was no exception. He’s only human.

“What we don’t need in the midst of struggle is shame for being human.” Harry had said one day. Earnest and raw as Louis forced himself to keep his gaze steady, something rupturing in his chest. “It’s a quote by Brene Brown. Simply sticking by that will take off way more load than you think Louis.”

“Shame for being human.” Louis had repeated, the words burning his tongue.

“It’s simple. You’re _expected_ to break when you fall, sometimes- sometimes you need to just embrace the hurt.” Harry’s grip was strong and unyielding, his palm pressing into the fine grained wood of the countertop as Louis had swallowed the words in, swallowed the way everything burned bright around them. The pub was alight with voices and Stan was probably yelling somewhere in the distance but _how_ could Louis look away? Not when every speckle of light in the only universe he has known is centered in that one gaze on him.

Harry.

So Louis feels the change in his movements every morning he gets out of bed, he feels, absorbs, breathes in the crisp air, lets his feet absorb the coldness on his floorboards for a little longer, lets his skin breathe and his throat burn pleasantly when he steps out into his tiny balcony, sipping on a cup of blistering tea. He lets his lungs expand, his footsteps reverberate, he listens to all of it and he cherishes it- he _cherishes_ the feel of it, he lets himself appreciate it. Lets himself get lost in the breathlessness of the life around him, however limited it may be.

And he thinks too. He thinks a lot.

“Two years back, around this time of the year; I had spray painted the back of my professors’ car.” Louis feels a swell ebb in his chest as he says so in the buzz of the pub on a Friday evening. The winds have consistently picked up pace over time and they’re reaching the middle of December now, when everything is cold and dull and mist blankets the top of every chimney, smattering of snow stays permanently slick on sidewalks and glasses fog instantly as one breathes against them.

Harry’s glass is no exception as it stays clasped within the warmth of his palms, his face alight and body warm. The pub buzzes around them as Louis continues, eyes caught far away, “My mates’ and I had about ten minutes between our last class for the term ending and our professors’ class ending; ten minutes to sprint halfway across campus and do the deed.” There’s a short sniffle, the memory bright. “I remember stuffing the cans all the way into my jacket and practically racing all the way across the Oxford campus to get there and draw all kinds of illegible shit before racing back just as the bell rang and our professor was out of his class. Barely like, two minutes after I’d nearly skid two feet across on ice and whacked one of my mates really, really hard for even proposing the goddamn idea.”

Louis shifts a little, not missing the way Harry’s large, green eyes trace his movements. “I mean… We didn’t get away with it though.” Streetlamps. There were so many bleary street lamps that night, Louis remembers all of it. Can remember the way the night has glistened for him. “I got dragged to professors’ office the very next day when some student told on us, still don’t know who the bastard was but that’s okay. I managed to woo the professor with all of my charms.”

Harry audibly suppresses laughter at that, tilting back a bit and knocking his knees on the countertop. He’s quite a gorgeous spectacle.

“Shush, nothing funny there. I was quite a charmer, alright.” Louis scolds, faux gravity in his voice. “That was probably the only reason my mates even took all the effort to make me part of their mastermind plan. I was usually in the good books of the faculty and if not-” He shrugs, a little haughty. “Good humor and eye contact works well.”

“Ooh. Little young Tomlinson knew all the tricks of the trade” Harry coos, very smug.

“I gift wrapped him a Home Alone CD alright?” Louis punctuates, mirth coloring his tone. “Woke up early in the morning, went all the way up to the CD store, _gift-wrapped_ it and only then walked into his office. That CD was probably the only reason I managed to even graduate after that.” He laughs openly now, chest heaving with the weight of the joyous memory.

“Owing it all to Home Alone then.” Harry agrees, and even goes on to raise his lemonade because he’s dramatic and enthusiastic about anything and everything. Louis adores it.

“It was all worth it though!” Louis reaches forward, a little frantic as he clasps Harry's palm delicately. It’s warm to the touch. “Probably the last time I got a proper adrenalin rush.” He rubs his thumb over Harry’s finger, the touch quiet and intimate. “Running on the streets of London in the middle of December after spray painting your professors car is-”

“It’s being young.” Harry whispers out, his voice way lower than it should be. There’s an almost sad bow to his lips, something contemplative tightening at his chin when he looks up, “It’s being young and it’s-“

“Going down a smoke hole.” Louis immediately smiles as the sentence leaves his lips. It’s so funny, the whole thing. He doesn’t want the weightless feeling it gives him to ever leave.

The glint in Harry’s eyes is back though, enough to compensate for the momentary loss of balance that had overshadowed earlier.

“I’m probably going to re watch Home Alone tonight.” Harry lifts up his glass, his other hand tightening its grip on Louis. “In tribute to Louis Tomlinson going down a Smoke Hole of his own two years back.”

Louis stares at him, gaze focused on Harry, on the way every light particle in the room sways and bows to his presence. He’s a gorgeous, breathtaking sight and Louis finds it hard to look away like that; he can’t imagine himself ever getting tired of the boy in front of him. Can’t imagine even ripping his gaze away when Harry’s lips speckle red blossoms, his collarbones curve under the dim lights, his sweater peeling off the end of his arms, halfway across his palms- he’s dainty and bold and so, so utterly breathtaking.

“You know what? Drop out of university and stay here all day.” Louis’ knuckles tighten on the counter, “I’ll tell you every single story from University, serenade you with every song I used to sing near fireplaces every night, proper court you even.”

He feels wild, his hair standing on an end, the words tumbling out his lips and electrocuting every particle in the air. Everything glows bright around them, a smile dancing on Harry’s lips, trickling warmth down Louis’ spine, inducing everlasting haze in his mind.

“No..” Harry’s eyes catch traces of faint yellows reflected off the lightbulbs. His eyes are wistful and heavy, but his lips quirk up as he brings his hands up, smooth and gentle. “ _You_ will give yourself a chance first, Louis.” His fingers reach Louis’ chin, drawing him forward as the world blurs around the edges. His breath ghosts on Louis’ lips, eyes filled with an undefined emotion, “Serenade me as much as you want, I’ll be there every single time. But... You still have a dream out there Lou.”

Louis inhales, ghost breaths lingering on each other’s lips as Harry speaks. He can nearly feel the touch of them, can almost pull in.

“You still have a dream and you’re not letting go of it. You’re going to reach it and watch it alight on your fingertips. And I’ll be there Lou, I’ll be there when the world bows down to you.”

***

“Come home.”

Louis’ voice is desperate as his fingers catch on fabric, catch on the seams of a woolen sweater, digging into skin, into Harry’s waist, sliding down to hold him by the side. “Come home Harry.”

The stars speckle the cosmos that stretches out above them, Nottingham asleep beyond the gates. Wintry air clings to their figures, setting an unshakeable chill down their spines, winter announcing its arrival in gusts of wind that blows across the landscape.

“I’m all yours.” Harry’s smile is radiant enough to set fire across the landscape as he offers his arm, beckoning them forward. Louis’ feels every molecule within him alight with the sight, something breathy suspending within his chest.

“All mine.”

***

“You helped me here when I was drunk.” Louis stutters out a laugh as they reach the landing, the floorboards dusty and creaky beneath their feet. Harry, with his perfectly mussed glossy curls, framing the doorway in his skinny jeans and embroidered jacket stands apart- a speck of pure richness amidst dull peripherals.

Louis’ home.

“One of my best times here.” Harry smiles, completely unaffected by the reeking surroundings, the chipped paint, the damp walls that loom high above them and stretch till the wooden ceiling like lurking shadows. Louis squeezes his palm, gentle and grateful before letting go as he unlocks the door, his heart positively pulsating.

The door swings open and Harry is already rushing forward to grab Louis’ fingers, twine them around his own. “You’re guiding me here you know.” He smells fresh and the cologne directly hits Louis’ sinuses, stirs him alive. He’s so fucking out of control.

“Wait. You’re not entering until-“ Louis feels his breath catch in his throat, feels the way his pulse buzzes and thrums underneath his clammy skin, everything buzzing in anticipation. His eyes catch Harry, all humor dripping out and melting into the floorboards when they lock gazes.

“Until?“ Harry looks breathless and jaded in grey light. And then he catches the hint, instantly sweeping away Louis’ heart with the way he promptly spins around, clutching Louis fervently and pressing him against the doorframe. It’s quick and it’s desperate and Louis chases the feeling. Chases it till his insides feel raw. “Until this?”

There’s lips on his own before he has time to even catch his breath. It’s so much and more he has wanted to let himself breath in, let himself feel the lips that have spoken and coddled and comforted him for months now. So he chases it, relentless and unabashed as he lets Harry pull him close, pressing him into the cold wood of the door frame as their lips meet, fervent and full of so, so much _relief_.

“Yeah. Yeah, this.” Louis laughs out, breathing against Harry’s lips and they smile into it, melding their bodies closer, Harry’s grip burning down Louis’ side, setting fireworks across his entire body.

They break away only once all the air has been promptly yanked right out Louis’ lungs and he’s pretty much gaping, still moving forward hopelessly to catch Harry’s lips one last time, a desperation lining the way his fingers tighten around Harry’s sweater, slipping beneath it to brush the pale skin.

“This- This was long overdue.” Harry breathes out the moment they pull away, stupid, ridiculously huge grins stretching across their faces.

There’s a beat of silence.

“ _That_ is the first thing you say?” Louis’ bursts out laughing, tugging Harry towards him, his living room blurring in front through overwhelmed tears. He’s laughing, crying, probably even drooling for all he cares as Harry’s warm body immediately gives into the tug, holding Louis’ shoulders and fastening the grip.

Harry’s laughing too, something watery on the surface of it as he clings, his waist slim and firm around Louis’ arms, the world solidifying around them.

Louis feels alive. He feels electricity on his fingertips and the universe in his palms when he kisses Harry again, just to remind himself how capable he is of feeling.

***

Louis had never really been fond of his home despite having spent countless nights within those four walls, sometimes with liquor bottles and cigarettes and raging, frustrated tears that trickled down his cheeks, burned his eyes and used to make him hate the world, curse it for being so unrelentingly ruthless. There would be papers scattered on his tiny china table, newspapers and articles and cutouts over which hours and hours were spent mulling and swallowing down lump after lump. The cold floorboards, the tiny stuffed fridge in the corner of the adjoined kitchen, the lonely ticking clock, the dusty rug rolled up in a corner- there had been nights where his same two eyes had meekly watched them all, damp and lost and faraway.

He had subconsciously grown to associate the dampness, the scent, the peeling wallpapers of his home to all these nights full of melancholy, of frustration, anguish and hurt. He had grown to hate his home.

“I…I have watched this pamphlet every single day for the past twelve months.” Louis’ words clomp down the second they leave his lips. He points to the purple, flowery vase atop the table, watching Harry turn away from the foggy, moistened window he was looking out of. He hasn’t said anything much yet, just letting Louis guide him through all the chippered, rugged looking home accessories while surveying the place with calm, serene eyes. His locks look like moonlit tresses, the same locks that Louis’ fingers were intertwined with mere minutes ago.

“This- I uh. I should probably tell you something.” Louis looks away from the glossy paper, hating the way the mere sight ignites frustration. He sits down on the couch instead, stance steely and feeling a little defeated already. “Take the pamphlet Harry.”

Cold winds race beyond the windows, rattling against the weak windows as

Harry’s figure cuts through the moonlight spilling in, calmly picking up the vase and sliding the pamphlet out from underneath it.

Louis feels something promptly rupture.

“That’s uh-“ Harry starts, a little confused. His fingertips are probably really grimy but he doesn’t show any discomfort, casually dusting the paper and turning it around a bit, squinting through the semi darkness. “That’s..”

“There’s something else underneath the vase.”

Harry glances back up, pure concern now writ across his face. He doesn’t come any closer though, his demeanor holds a sense of curiosity, a sense of carefulness as he slowly looks underneath the vase again. Heels click on the floorboard, resonating and echoing through the silence as he squints and slowly widens his eyes.

“I didn’t leave the theatre. I got fired.”

Louis gets up, his throat positively burning as tears well again. He needs to be held, needs to have an anchor, and Harry- _Harry_.

“This is my letter of termination.” He finds himself desperately crossing the distance between them, reaching for Harry, sliding fingers up his waist and fastening on to his sweater. He points to the glossy paper, taking in a feverish breath. “And that’s… That’s the pamphlet with my name at the forefront. The lead of the show. That’s what was used to invite our audiences.”

Darkness speckles both the papers, the text is barely visible but Louis has the words memorized. Has them emboldened at the back of his mind.

“Two contrasting things, these two. One has proud, fiercely determined emotions attached to it.” Louis’ breath crackles through the air, faintly aware of Harry’s own grip on him. “And the other is tangible evidence of everything my younger self could never have even _imagined_ holding in his two hands.”

He inhales before letting go of Harry. He knows Harry isn’t going anywhere, isn’t leaving Louis to handle his demons by himself; it’s a warm comforting thought ingrained in the back of Louis’ mind. He needs that reassurance. Needs to make sure the universe won’t explode on his palms anytime soon.

“I deserved to have fallen though.” Louis’ breathily admits now as he sits down on the tiny cot in front of the window, leaning against the window sill, eyes lost somewhere in the cold sky above. “I’ve been thinking about it for a bit you know and I realized that… A lot of these frustrations came only because I didn’t know what bruises felt like. My skin was always too raw, too susceptible.”

“I know babe.” The endearment falls out of Harry’s lips like liquid gold, words rushing forward, edging with some raw emotion Louis is barely able to touch down on. “That’s why it hurt you so much.”

“Yet you kept sugarcoating everything just to be gentle.” Louis laughs, a little raw. It rattles the windows and shakes his body with the percussion when Harry slides down by his side, limbs and arms clicking in place. “You could have directly told me that my egoistic ass deserved what it got. And yet-” He faces Harry, something like wonder etched into the corners, “-Yet you’re so painfully gentle.”

“Maybe if you stopped looking at failure as something so tainting….” Harry hums a little. His eyes catch some starlight as he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. The world blurs. “Maybe if… If you realized that you can still be loved and adored and cherished despite the darker sides of your story.” His lips reach forward, wet on Louis’ quivering ones. “You’re exquisite in every way possible Louis, no amount of termination letters or critically acclaimed articles are diminishing your worth.”

“See, that’s what I meant when I said you’re painfully gentle.” Louis practically bursts out, just then. He reaches forward, almost lunges to align their faces in a bruising kiss. He brings Harry’s hand up, shaking a bit as he presses it to his chest, presses it into the orifices of his soul. “It physically hurts me sometimes.”

Harry answers by pressing even closer, the touch hurtling Louis into an abyss he doubts he ever wants to drag himself out of. The world can be hands and vanilla fragrances and lips that taste of cherries and he’ll have it that way.

“Now what though?” Louis breaks the kiss and breathes out, shutting his eyes and pressing his forehead closer.

“Hm?”

“Now what? I’m not getting my job back. They _fired_ me.” Louis almost hears his heartbeat in his ears. However repulsive the words are, the defensiveness has sort of ebbed away though. He _deserved_ what he got and there’s... There’s acceptance now.

“You-” Harry breathes out, a little tentative. He’s careful and syrupy around the edges as he looks down, slightly lost before slowly interlacing Louis’ fingers with his own. “You start again. From the bottom.”

What.

“We’re talking about theatre. Expertise can be gained only with time.” Harry continues, his words liquid. “You can still climb up the ranks, still get where you want to. It’s just… Only passion can get you there.”

“And time and effort.” Louis shoots back. His skin feels so fucking cold.

“You’re young, you know? You have the time.” Harry replies, smooth as ever. “We’re talking about passion here, it’s something you genuinely love doing. Will you let yourself enjoy that please? Stature isn’t everything.”

_“Stature isn’t everything.”_

Too much. It’s far too much.

“And if I still fall again-“

“I’ll catch you.”

There’s a short beat before Harry continues, “If that’s what you need to hear, I’ll say it. I’ll catch you if you fall again.”

It’s shaky and tentative and apprehensive, Louis barely needs to even look at Harry to realize all of that.

He doesn’t reply though. He doesn’t because he knows those words are empty. That this isn’t about Harry being some sort of savior in their story; that Louis isn’t as pathetic as that.

***

Harry stays.

He stays through the night, wrapped around Louis, sleep hazed limbs tucked under blankets. It was an instant decision, no apprehension at all in the way his eyes had immediately sparked with an indistinguishable ferocity in response to Louis’, “Is it okay if you like… If you don’t mind staying-“

“Why the hell won't I?” Harry had burst, immediate and doubtless. Enough to stir every inch of Louis’ cold parts alive.

They decided to watch a movie after spending a fair amount of time just breathing against each other on the couch, woolens and quilts haphazardly pulled out of rusty cupboards and thrown atop their snug bodies. All in all, it isn’t too bad. Harry’s body is an anchor in some way, already beginning to become something Louis finds harder and harder to detach from- it’s the way they click together. The way it’s something so obvious almost; they actually meld together, legs and arms perfectly sliding into place, warm and unrelenting as they hold each other. The world outside can wait.

It really shouldn’t be as astonishing as it feels, it should be something simple, something Louis wants to fill himself with. Genuine love, comfort, the feel of another person’s body against his own.

But instead, it’s absolutely bedazzling. It feels too terrifyingly unreal. Except, it is.

“Home Alone. The second part.” Harry had quipped, sweet and warm. He’s in his socks, jeans and sweater only and Louis can feel every corner of his body against his own as he sinks into the feeling. The TV screen stares blankly at them.

“You really are all for classics.” Louis obviously complied, grabbing the remote and feeling very grateful that the movie was pre downloaded into his television. He didn’t have to move and bring the cd. Didn’t have to part with Harry. Thank Heavens.

“Nothing so bad about being cliché. I love cliché.” Harry replies. “First time watching it here though, so that does mean something right?”

“That means watching it on a shitty pixelated television actually.”

“With you.”

“With-“ Louis starts, caught off guard before turning to face Harry. “You’ve _spoilt_ me you know. Fucking rotten my teeth with all your words.”

“That’s okay.” Harry says sweetly, vanilla scents immediately assaulting Louis’ senses when he pecks him and holds him close. Achingly close.

***

The room is warm and saturated, curtains ruffling softly in the corner, the TV abuzz, everything blanketed in soft, grey hues. Their movements are dazed and sleep induced as they shift every few seconds, angling themselves whilst the couch creaks underneath. Louis wishes he had better to offer, wishes his home wasn’t so horrifyingly dingy.

“Makes me miss nights in New York.” Harry mumbles absentmindedly, the glow of the television washing over his sated face. His voice is barely there, but Louis is rapt.

“New York?”

“Mhmm.” Harry’s cheek presses into Louis’, his expression content. Is- is he sleeping? Dozing? What.

“You’ve spent multiple nights in New York?”

“Yeah.” Harry sort of rumbles out, everything etched in warm colors. Louis almost feels like he’s losing grasp of reality; Macaulay Culkin is speaking somewhere in the distance.

So. Multiple nights in New York. _New York_.

And… He’s a university student.

“You…” Louis’ drags his heavy eyes up, arms aching slightly but just about reaching. He brushes the fringe off of Harry’s dazed face, looking into the blank, sleepy abyss that is Harry’s eyes. Something like a faraway echo resonates beneath the gaze.

“You feel like such a mystery sometimes.” Louis whispers, things feeling a little too terrifyingly out of reach, “Like I barely know you at all.”

“I’m right here though.” Harry’s eyes flutter open, like a camera refocusing after shuttering loudly. He closes them again, a little breathless when he tips forward, achingly close. His lips are red and freshly kissed as he speaks, a smug smile lining the words.

“Right here living for the moments I can’t put into words.”

***

The floorboards are washed and smeared in strips of white morning light when Louis feels the first few ripples through his skin. Ripples of the effect of the sudden, jarring emptiness around him.

But it _aches_. It aches far too much. The world is bright white and bleary yellows as Louis creaks an eyelid open, limbs suffocating with the temptation to go back to sleep. It’s early. Far too early.

Dust particles dance through the blinding daylight, cutting through the air when Louis hears sudden movement, feels fingers slide up his palm.

“Harry?” Louis almost croaks out, his vision lacking any clarity. The sunlight is very harsh and there- there’s Harry. Standing tall and lanky, his body angled towards the main door.

“University?” Louis instinctively asks, letting the fingertips linger on his palm.

Harry’s hair is disheveled and sticking in all directions, his sweater bending low on cross his collarbones, rolled all the way up till his elbows. The white light bends and parts way for him, every molecule in the universe aligning in tandem. He doesn’t reply, doesn’t even nod, just smiles; a small little thing paired with partly sad, wistful eyes. It’s there though, the smile, the lips, the eyes, the glowing rich skin, the _presence-_ it’s all enough to set fire to the pit of longing in Louis’ stomach. It’s the same boy he met at the pub weeks ago, the same body that was wrapped around him minutes ago.

More dust filters in, cold misty air drifting in between them when Harry squeezes Louis’ palm, quick and firm before withdrawing. It’s probably the way time slows down in bleary, sleep soaked mornings like these, probably the way everything is achy and detached because Louis’ barely registers when the house echoes in disjointing emptiness. Barely registers when he drifts back to sleep, bathed in morning sun.

……..

Slowly, Louis learns how to breathe.

It’s like after twelve months of living in a glass bottle full of smoke and salt tears, the smog has been sucked out completely and within the same particles, the same _existence_ lies dewdrops and pearls and every last thing associated with goodness. With the feeling of air in one’s lungs and the steady thrum of a warm bloodstream. A pulse with a purpose. A gaze with embedded hope.

Louis _feels_.

“When you’re so used to having a lifestyle of succumbed dreams and lonely nights, it’s almost terrifying sometimes.” Louis whispers against red lips every night now, whispers and kisses and feels till his skin feels tender. Till every breath Harry takes wrecks his entire being. “It’s terrifying to feel something so real.”

“No.” Harry’s breath ghosts sparks down Louis’ neck, warm and unhurried. His arms stay intertwined, a move that has grown to become practiced, something Louis can’t find the strength to let go of. “It’s terrifying to think that you of all people were _ever_ incapable of feeling.” He slides fingers into Louis’ hair, a steady gaze holding Louis anchor. “Terrifying that you thought the world was too loud for you when it’s right here.” Lips meet and sparks fly, racing into Louis’ skin. “Right here on your lips, on your palm; and it’s waiting to be held. Waiting for you because you can not lose grasp, can’t succumb. Not you.”

_“Not you.”_

Louis doesn’t know. Doesn’t let himself feel any more than Harry’s skin in truly frightening moments like these. He needs his anchor, he needs to remind himself to not slip out of the moment. Not let go.

Even working at the pub doesn’t seem half as terrifying anymore. It isn’t daunting and stressful when there’s Harry patiently sitting by the corner, calm and composed reading a book or drawing into his book while Louis shuffles around, feet cramping and joints aching but it doesn’t feel too bad anymore. The element of bitterness, of that seething hatred he’d associated the pub with had melted away, completely withdrawn.

It’s... He can breathe through the hours now.

“I... Am dating a customer at my workplace.” Louis blushes on a Friday evening as he slowly sets away the empty glasses and dishrags. He likes such evenings when it’s just the two of them and the pub is being shut, locked away from the noise and bone chilling winds outside while he slowly takes his time cleaning up. His mind isn’t entirely just ruckus anymore, there is some pull, some sense of purpose now.

“Why’d you say that with such disbelief?” Harry laughs as he looks up from the book he’s reading, positively amused. He has pulled on a thin t-shirt tonight, a black one that stretches across his biceps and pulls at his slim waist. It’s rolled back till his elbows, showcasing the display of dark tattoos across the pale skin.

“Not disbelief. Things have just changed so my brain is trying to catch up.” Louis quietly admits, rolling away the last few bottles into the glass cases. He looks up, catching Harry’s long wistful gaze. His eyes are very wide, something wondrous floating on the surface. “Like how the hell am I supposed to look away when you keep watching me like that?”

“Like what?” Harry instantly smirks, very smug. His eyes twinkle in unison.

“Like I’m some lighthouse in the middle of a stormy sea.” There’s a beat of awkward silence. Louis may be at fault.

“Have you been reading?”

“What- no. Not recently at least.”

“Then where did all that poetic shit just come from?”

“Poetic? Really?”

“I thought you were going to say something like I look like I’m about to devour you or something-“

“What the fuck- _Harry_.” Louis bursts out laughing, air filling his lungs in an instant.

Harry’s grinning too, very satisfied with himself as he slumps a bit before placing the bookmark on his book and closing it. His eyes stay on Louis, calm and undeterred. “I don’t mind lighthouse either. Guiding light and all that.”

“Exactly.” Louis quips, sliding the glass door shut. The round rattles through the silence, carrying through the waves of unspoken words between them. And then he’s bounding, crossing the distance, footstep after footstep thumping life into the floorboards when he aligns his body against Harry’s, pressing his lips against warm ones. “Guiding light.” He breathes.

There’s some weird, irrational disconnect though.

Harry’s here, skin and fabric and lips and he’s _here_ , he’s warm and wonderful and the only bright speck in Louis’ life; but that isn’t it. It isn’t it. Louis is aware of that; terrified and faltering through all of it, but very much aware. He hates how the feeling is always present, prying towards the surface.

He’s running out of time, see. It’s a ticking clock that shouldn’t even exist but it’s there, set into a delicate painful hum at the back of Louis’ mind, day after day, night after night.

_“And if you don’t even try taking that first leap, nothing’s ever changing. Ever.”_

Harry’s words are perpetually carved, engraved at the back of his mind. It’s a silent reminder every time, just waiting patiently to be run fingers on, to be shook and rattled because it really _isn’t_ changing alright? Louis can have as many nights as he wants in the company of this boy here, he can wake up beside a warm body and tangled limbs every morning, can work in the same place every day, walk the same dim streets, clean the same glasses, toil and toil the way he has been doing for _so long_. But that’s….. Where is any of that even going?

“Why are you so frustratingly patient?” Louis breaks the kiss, voice falling. He’s frustrated. “Why aren’t you just directly telling me to get off my arse and stop dragging out everything and actually make some change for _once_? Why are you letting me continue the way I am?”

Pelt. Pelt. Pelt. He can’t see any other way around this.

“Because that’s not in my hands.” Harry seems only momentarily confused before relaxing.

“That’s- _Harry_.” Louis’ huffs out, completely at a loss of bringing himself to make any sense.

There had been the first glimmer of hope since the day Harry had talked about Smoke Holes and how ridiculously passionate he is by the whole metaphor. It had been inconsequential back then, just one of Harry’s many quirks- but _God_ , only if it were that simple.

Hope; a beam, a ripple of hope had slowly risen solely because Louis had never completely let go of his dreams, had he? Despite how hard he tried making himself believe so; the desire, the temptation of even the slightest hope for change never left. It wasn’t concrete enough yet, considering how everything just subconsciously gets stifled; but there had been _change_. Something almost alien had been instilled.

But Louis had refused to chase it.

The thing is though, even now Harry is right. It is not in Harry’s hands.

“I’m literally the first person to admit how much I enjoy spending time with you here you know.” Harry starts, eyes tracing Louis' face, slow and tentative. His thumb brushes Louis’ elbow. “The way things are now is brilliant from my side. If I take a step back and be selfish for a moment, there’s nothing more I could ask for Lou. Nothing more I could imagine having when you’re here and-“

“I’m terrified.”

The air leaves the room.

Harry’s empty lemonade glass reflects some light as Louis’ arm brushes it, everything feeling airy and breathless. “I’m terrified because there’s actual hope now. For the first time since I stepped into the Communitas. For the first time since I’d stepped into my producer’s office and seen a mount of articles and newspapers stacked on his desk.”

That’s not it. That’s not _it_.

“And then Harry, I remember what you told me one night.” Louis musters all the strength in his bones to force himself to look at Harry’s wistful gaze. His eyes moisten and soften when he speaks, a thumb skimming down Harry’s chin. “Sometimes you’ve got to take a leap and not expect anything at all. Go down a Smoke Hole.”

Something immediately sparks alive behind Harry’s eyes, something akin to burning pride almost. Louis wants to feel it on his own fingers, wants to soak up that warmth resonating from the boy in front of him.

“And that’s…” Louis’ breath rattles. He’s terrified. Absolutely terrified of whatever lies ahead. So he brushes the pale skin instead, fingers tracing Harry’s chin, his hands curling at the nape of his neck. “That’s what I’m going to do…”

***

“December 31st. New Years’.”

“Hm?” Harry hums, absent minded against Louis’ neck. He’s half asleep, socked feet tucked into Louis’ joints; the very portrait of peace.

“New Years’.” Louis repeats a little insistently, sleep pulling at his own limbs, dulling down his senses. He pushes Harry’s hair back, fingers curling on the locks. “I’m changing it. Taking that first leap.”

“You are?” Harry breathes out. His hair smells of roses and fuck- is he even listening? Why is he sleeping? Not now!

Louis’ mind is abuzz while his movements stay languid. Slow and deep in thought. “I am Harry. It’s a decision.”

“Where exactly are you going to go?” Harry grumbles, lips barely parting. He’s definitely dozing, barely even paying attention. And Louis is so stupidly endeared for no logical reason.

“I’m going to….” Louis feels his mind racing. Something thrums underneath his skin- can Harry feel it? Since they’re basically flopped over each other, arms and limbs and all. Harry should feel it; because it’s _loud_. It’s new, it’s terrifying but there’s a steady stream of it, a steady push. Purpose, yes. There’s purpose in his words. “I’m going to do as you said. Start again. Go for it because I love acting not because… Not because I’m hungry for success.”

Harry’s awake then. He’s stirring and he’s alive and Louis clings in blinding, giddy joy. He presses his hands into Harry’s waist, relishing the sight of that soft, proud smile that has begun blossoming on those cherry stained lips.

“Not because you’re hungry for success?” Harry repeats, something like heavy relief coating his words. His lips are parted and the vast night sky is reaching for them from far beyond.

“No Harry.” Louis feels the rumble of emotion. The way it tugs within him. “That’s… Not what matters anymore.”

Harry’s silent. Waiting. So, so beautiful.

“I’ll do it. Trust myself and go down a Smoke Hole.” Louis’ words moisten through the delicate warmth that wraps around them. Harry’s watching him in awe, in pure admiration, lips parted and face positively open. As though Louis hung up the stars for him, as though _he_ isn’t the only one capable of stirring life within dead bones and empty hearts. Louis laughs, broken and flooded, “You’re going to kill me with the way you look at me someday.”

Harry’s lips slam against his own, shaking fingers sliding down his waist.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis’s dancing. 

He’s swaying, tripping, hurtling on his own feet but he’s absolutely dancing. He barely remembers the last time he danced. Not this way at least. 

“Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more!” Harry bellows, loud and unabashed as he practically drags Louis across the living room, stumbling past sheets and articles and files scattered near their feet. “Other dancers may be on the floor-”

“That’s not the lyric.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Louis stifles a laugh, grasping hold of Harry’s shoulder tighter as he gulps down peals of laughter. The room is swaying around them, his entire body screaming in exhaustion but he’s dancing, dancing through all of it. “Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease-” He hums.. 

“When you dance you have a way with me.” Harry perks up, dragging Louis forward again, nearly yanking his feet off the ground as they grab on fabric and skin, gliding very ungracefully. “Stay with me, sway with me…” He smiles through the lines. 

A lightbulb pops in Louis’ head. 

“Okay that’s it.” Louis lets go, not missing the immediate loss of contact on his waist when he detaches his body and crashes to the couch. And- papers! They’re there too. Everywhere. 

“Harryyy.” Louis groans, not bothering to be careful at all when he pushes away all the sheets, letting them fall to the dusty mat spread out on the floor instead. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” He accuses. 

“ _I’ve_ made?” Harry raises his eyebrows. Something bright and mischievous sparks alive behind his gaze and there- 

“Wait, no! Harry-” Louis barely has time to protest before Harry leaps, actually _leaps_ off his feet and pounces on Louis, the couch creaking louder than Louis has ever heard. Or ever imagined hearing. 

Harry barely bothers paying heed to Louis’ small body that has been put under a joyous hold now, instead going on to snuggle even closer, kicking away at nothing in particular and flopping right on top of Louis. 

“I’m going to make you watch The Exorcist tonight.” Louis mumbles through all the hair stuffed into his mouth. Harry’s smug smile immediately dwindles, his cheek squished against Louis’ tie dye t-shirt that hangs loosely on his shoulders. 

"No." 

“You’ve got nothing to be afraid of though.” Louis absently lifts up his arm, his living room blurring to dull greys as he cards fingers through Harry’s locks. They’re definitely getting longer now, curling down the nape of his neck. 

“I’d rather search through all your records and newspaper articles for another two hours than watch a horror movie.” Harry promptly replies, sort of dribbling on Louis’ t-shirt as he sighs. Such a pup. 

Records. _Louis’ records._

They sat on the floor for hours after Louis’ shift had ended; pulling out all his academic records and material fit for a resume (which were very impressive according to Harry’s shell shocked, “How the hell were you so consistent? Louis these aren’t normal.”) and surfing through dusty storage boxes stashed away in forgotten corners of his home. There had been photo albums and record tapes too, the only tangible evidence of all the bits and pieces of memories from Louis’ childhood which he’d carefully brought alongside his heavy heart while moving into the Communitas. 

“What’s that?” Harry had softly inquired, keen gentle eyes on the yellow, frilly album that fell to the carpet while they’d emptied the box. 

One second into locking gazes with the innocently lying album and it had immediately clicked Louis, spurring pure panic. “Nothing.” 

Everything. Those memories are everything. 

Something like genuine understanding settled into Harry’s gaze just then. No prying, no pushing. 

Louis had slowly, carefully taken out all the albums and recorders though and kept them away, somewhere he knew his eyes would reach easily. 

And when Harry’s quiet, sad gaze had gotten too much and the dust on the carpet and their hands had triggered more fatigue, Louis had climbed into Harry’s lap, letting himself feel small while locking into an embrace. “Thank you for being so wonderful to me.” He’d said, dragging the words out. Tired and slow but it’s loud. 

Harry had only kissed him as a response, unbothered and taking what he wanted from Louis’ own drowsy, desperate lips. It’s the only feeling that matters just then. 

“Has it been two hours?” Louis closes his eyes now, breathing against Harry’s warm body. The night feels strange, it feels big. Like the sky outside is too large somehow, the wind is too harsh, everything feels momentous. 

“I think so. So many dusty papers.” Harry grumbles, a little whiny in that adorably endearing way of his. 

“Yeah, we’re covered in grime actually.” Louis responds, breathing slowing down as fatigue seeps in. Harry’s own body has become a dull thrum, slowly drifting. 

“It’s because we climbed down a Smoke Hole.” Harry grins, full blown and proud and wow- if that isn’t just the pun of the century. 

“We did, didn’t we.” Louis beams, coolness settling on his eyelids as he drifts even further, everything blurring behind the dark abyss suspended in his vision. “It’s worth something right?” 

“Everything.” Harry’s fingers slide down Louis' waist, holding him close. Wind races outside, strong and fierce, alluding to the steel in Harry’s voice, however exhausted it may be. “It’s worth everything.” 

Louis drifts to sleep, strangely content. It’s going to work out. 

The world _will_ bow down to him and alight on his fingertips. It has to. 

***

“Is the Communitas decorated for Christmas?” 

It’s three days before Christmas and two days before Louis turns twenty-one when they’re walking down the streets, towards home. Home. Louis’ home. Their home. Is it though? Is it their home? _Their_? 

Unnecessary questions. 

Harry’s bopping next to him like the cheery cherubic pup he is, kicking on stray pebbles, pointing out at rusty decorated storefronts, humming some quiet tune under his breath and occasionally even going all out to grab Louis’ waist and pull him in for a kiss. It’s overwhelming every single time he does that. 

“Not really.” Louis responds, letting Harry’s arm settle on his waist. He melts into the touch, moonlight glistening on their figures. Bippity Boppity. It’s all too quiet. “It gets quite empty actually. Senior citizens and nomadic workers live here mostly so a lot of them go to the city to spend time with their families or like… I don’t know really, just have a livelier holiday I guess.” 

“Livelier Holiday.” Harry repeats, slightly incredulous. “Wreaths and red socks and Christmas trees and lots and lots of lights. Is that lively? Is that what you adore? I do!” He yelps a bit, way too excited for no real reason. 

Louis turns to look at him, something shifting in his chest. Moonlight trickles through Harry’s hair, cutting across the plains of his face. His lips are full and red.

It stirs, awakens something fierce in Louis’ stomach, everything feeling out of hand. Too massive. The sight of Harry feels so massive. 

He… He loves this boy here. He actually _loves_ him. 

“I do adore all of that actually.” Louis’ words feel watery on his lips, voice breathless. Harry looks confused, gentle and breathtaking through it. So Louis leans up, bringing their footsteps to a stop as the night tinkles awake. He pulls Harry forward, fingers rushing underneath the velvet coat and grabbing him by the waist as he hoists up, opening his mouth to let Harry’s tongue gentle pry. “I adore it a lot.” He mumbles, not giving a damn if anyone sees them this way, in the middle of the goddamn street, surrounded by flickering lamps and moonlit pavements. 

They kiss breathlessly, more frantic and almost purposeful, everything around them dwindling down to inconsequence. Harry tastes like lemonade, sweet and sugary and gentle, wet on the edges of his damp mouth as they kiss till Louis’ feels tears erupt in his throat and he has to pull away, holding Harry’s face in trembling fingers. 

He _loves_ him. 

“What did I do to deserve such a kiss?” Harry laughs out, letting the icy wind sweep through his hair. His eyes glint bright jaded green, everything in the universe rendered insignificant in front of it. 

“What did you do?” Louis trembles a little, unable to help himself as he kisses the side of Harry’s mouth, wet and shaky, “Apart from making every damn thing in my life seem less terrifying? Apart from being the only reason I smile every day? Apart from being the only reason I manage to step foot out of here someday? Actually find the strength I thought I’d lost ages ago?” 

“Someday? New Years’ Eve Louis.” Harry’s breathy, leaning to kiss Louis back. “It’s still everything _you’re_ doing love. Not me.” 

Of course he’s going to say that. Of course he is. 

Because through the weeks that had dragged on between slow touches and heavy breathing and lingering kisses, through the dozens of files and articles they’d pulled out of the rusty cabinet and sifted, mulled, procrastinated over- Harry refused to let Louis ever feel alone. He fucking _refused_. 

“I can’t believe any of this is even happening.” Louis would huff out, slack and overwhelmed by the sheer enormity because they really didn’t stop. Everything has to be brought together, it’s all part of a _plan_ alright? It’s part of something huge. 

The sun will rise and fall across the sky, descend through pastel clouds every evening, everything blazing orange and dwindling down to deep icy blues when it’s Louis and Harry sitting together, reciting long, monotonous passages out of Harry’s favorite literary works, kicking back on the carpet and shuffling past the papers scattered around to kiss when the moment feels too large. It’s a cheesy romantic comedy playing on the television, nearly muted and the screen blurry as they tangle arms and bodies and demand to stay moulded to each other, demand to momentarily forget about the rest of the world. It’s lemonades and crisps being shared between them during Louis shifts while Harry laughs and smiles and teases him about everything ridiculous and they’re waiting, waiting, waiting to go home. Waiting to face all that is huge and terrifying, hand in hand; quivering and trembling on a few nights too when Louis stirs awake and clutches, grabs, kisses and loses track of reality.

When he loses track of everything, the only reality that he can believe in is Harry. 

Harry. One boy, it’s just him. Always him. 

“If you can’t find your way out of the darkness, I will sit there and show you the stars.” Louis recites into the night, breath fogging against Harry’s lips. His fingers blaze on fabric, as he tugs, knocked breathless as he inhales to form words. “You made me believe in that Harry.” 

***

“I was sitting in my dorm with two huge textbooks on either side of my lap on this very day two years ago.” Louis hums against Harry’s pale neck. It’s a very pretty neck, the skin soft under Louis’ lips. It’s very dark outside. 

“And you’re sitting with two hearts right now. They’re beating very slow.” Harry replies, blinking at the ceiling. 

“Mine is beating very fast actually.” 

“Mine too.” 

“Really?” 

“Didn’t want to be the only one accepting it.” 

“You’re not. It’s only around you Harry. I feel powerful.” Louis feels brave. Very, very brave. 

“I think that’s what happens when you love someone.” Harry breathes out, starstwinkling behind his irises. “I feel powerful too.”

Love. He said love. 

Louis’s too tired, too full of feelings he never knew could hold him hostage this way. “I felt invincible exactly two years ago when everything was high up.” He blinks, eyelashes kissing the skin on Harry’s collarbones, “It feels strangely the same even now.” 

“New Years’ Eve.” Harry mumbles, body slowly whirring to a slow hum. 

“New Years’ Eve.” Louis promises. 

***

“Shouldn’t you be having exams right now?” 

Louis is awake. Why is he awake? It’s nearing morning is it? Everything is dark and the curtains are ruffling, far, far away. 

“I should?” Harry’s lips barely part. He’s going to leave in a few hours if morning is really approaching and no- _No_. Louis sniffles. 

“Yeah. Term exams before Christmas.” Louis replies and really, why is he still speaking? It’s too drowsy. Another question pings in just then though. “Do you even _study_?” 

Heh. That’s some question, isn’t it. 

“Mhmm.” 

Ah. 

“You didn’t _actually_ drop out did you?” Louis feels giddy and his skull practically throbs when he giggles. He should shut up. Seal his lips and shut up. Should sleep. 

But what exactly is Harry even _doing_? He probably doesn’t even study, must barely be getting time considering all the hours he spends here and shit- why isn’t he having exams right now? Every university does. Every single one. 

Louis’ balance stumbles, everything screeching to a stop. 

“Haz.” He tries, circling Harry’s smooth chest with his fingertip, his voice very controlled. Emotion drips in, a little helpless. “What are you hiding from me?” 

There’s fear. Genuine fear and it’s… What is going on? 

Harry heard him. He definitely heard him with the way his body goes stiff for a few seconds, barely enough for Louis to catch before loosening up again. It’s horrifying. He isn’t even answering. 

And it _hurts_. 

Louis half wants to slide out of the warm grip they’re holding each other in,wants to scramble to the main door and flee into the night for it to swallow him whole. But the other half overshadows any such desires, the other half screams of blind trust, of _faith_. 

There’s no way Louis can let go. No way he can hold his pieces by himself. He can’t and he won’t because he loves Harry. He loves him and that one feeling screams louder than every other damned emotion. 

***

Louis had woken up to empty arms, his skin washed in morning sunshine, the sight of his living room pale and aglow leaving his eyesight very delirious. It’s just like every other morning where Harry leaves for a few torturously long hours before coming back in the evening. 

That should be okay. It should. 

Except, it’s really not. 

Because it’s Louis’ birthday tomorrow. It’s his last day as a twenty year old and the thought that he had to wake up feeling empty, had to feel the lack of warmth and absence of Harry’s scent fill him that morning is enough to brew an irrational sense of frustration. There’s last night too- he doesn’t want to think about it. Too weak to do so. 

Also.. Harry doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know it’s his birthday. 

Louis sniffles a bit at the thought as he opens the shutters to the dark, empty pub in the afternoon. There’s a strange, shivery chill in the air and dazzling orange light spreading all across the horizon and brightening up every last cold spot in the alley. 

Harry would just kiss him probably; or serenade him with a bunch of his favorite quotes or something. Louis doesn’t quite know, but he enjoys the lingering feeling of anticipation it leaves on his pulse, clashing with the cold metal of the shutters. It’s warm, airy and he loves it. He loves Harry. So fucking much. 

_“Being in love makes you feel powerful.”_

Harry’s words echo back, exactly the way they do several times now. Louis is so, so used to it. So used to all his comforting words and gentle gazes and wet kisses- dependent almost. 

Even now, with footstep after footstep echoing through the empty pub, granite countertops and antique furniture coming into view, all of it washed in a cold, heavy silence, Louis feels the buzzing beneath his skin. He feels the pull, the tug of emotion in his gut as thoughts about Harry, that beautiful, dainty boy practically assaults him. Every damn inconsequential detail about him has been delicately wrapped around Louis’ lips, his icy fingers, in the crook of his neck and the skin on his collarbones, it’s etched into Louis’ being and he breathes it all in. Lets his thoughts absolutely ricochet while he busies himself with work, glasses dinging and winds whipping in the distance. 

Is that what being in love feels like? Because Louis is infatuated, he’s _gone_. Swept away and torn into bits by the emotions pulsating through his bloodstream even when Harry isn’t around. 

“Louis.” A voice reaches, cutting through the whirlwind. 

Louis immediately snaps his head back, completely taken off guard. “Hm?” 

It’s Stan. It’s Stan looking quiet and uncharacteristically awkward as he takes of his beanie and walks into the pub, shivering a bit through the sterile chill in the air. His large, gruffy coat hangs low and awkward, bundles of patterned scarves bunched around his thick neck. 

“Hey man.” Stan continues, not directly looking at Louis as he bustles towards his work station, taking off his coat and rubbing his palms together. Something is off. 

“All good?” Louis asks a little tentatively as he lifts his hand up from the glasses he was arranging on the icy cabinet. 

“Yeah uh- yeah.” Stan looks morose. _Morose_. He’s the last person on earth to look like that and really, what is he trying to do? 

“Yeah-” Louis keeps watching, mouth slightly agape when Stan cuts in. 

It’s swift and slightly exasperated when Stan rubs his beanie between his palms, looking down at his feet and then looking back up. “Just wanted to say that uh- I’m happy for you man. Happy for everything that’s been going on with you.” 

And…. Oh wow. Oh _wow_. 

Louis feels air immediately pump into his lungs, the fresh smell of cleaning soap and cold breeze being replaced by something airy. “You what… Stan-”

“Seriously man. I’ve worked with you for a year; I’ve never seen you this way.” Stan continues anyways, his murky brown eyes twinkling a bit. He looks genuine, kind. A far cry from everything Louis used to view him as. 

“This way?” Louis mumbles, soft round the edges. 

“Happy.” Stan simply answers. He’s picking on his beanie a bit, thumbing at the fabric and doing his best to feign nonchalance and really, Louis can appreciate that. The bell dings in the distance and the first few customers for the day mill in, coughing a little and chatter filtering in the peripherals. “I haven’t ever like, put in much effort when it came to you and I think a lot of it was because of the resentment you held towards everything for so long. It sort of… Made me a little bitter myself.” Stan continues, his words open and honest. 

“I’m…” Louis coughs a little. He can do this, it’s truthful statements after all. He can handle that. “I’m sorry I guess. I didn’t like, consciously think it would rub off or anything.” He laughs, self conscious and slightly quivery. 

“No but Louis, really. I don’t know what happened or how it happened but this-” He motions, looking slightly puzzled himself. “-This whole thing you’ve got going on right now; I’m happy it fell into place. Glad.” 

Glad. 

Right. 

“I appreciate it, thanks man.” Louis pulls his lips to a small smile, still slightly surprised by the whole thing. So he is pretty obvious then- _Harry and him_ are pretty obvious then. Even work hours aren’t subtle at all and really, Louis can’t help but feel some pride. Harry _is_ his after all. 

“Little mystery boy you’ve got there.” Stan huffs out a joyous laugh, light hearted as ever before thumping Louis’ back twice, cheeks crinkled and jaw loose. 

Little mystery boy. Right. 

Louis isn’t going there, no. He isn’t. He really can’t. He loves Harry. _Loves_ him. 

“Yeah.” Louis smiles a little weakly, fingers cold on the granite before the first streams of orders begin pouring in, dragging him back to reality. Stan is already pulling away and on his way, glasses and shakers are being grabbed out of rickety cabinets and bustled around while chatter rises and wintry afternoon rays cut in through the moist glass, blazing streaks of orange sliding down the side of Louis’ face. 

None of this is permanent. It’s not. New Years’ Eve is a week away. 

He can do this. 

***

“Harry.” 

“So I was all like, no my boyfriend’s house has to be decorated, he’s gonna be really mad at me but I still have to do it you know-”

“Harry.” 

“Okay that’s it. What?” Harry laughs, giddy as ever. 

They’re sitting on the carpet of Louis’ apartment, all the files having been stacked and pushed away in neat corners now. A plate of drying French fries lies between them, providing company to an entire baggage of wreaths, strings, lights and even a tiny Christmas tree that Harry had dragged along with him that evening. “Yeah, like I’m going to spare your home.” Was Harry’s explanation, earnest and content. They hadn’t hung any of it up yet but it’s all _there_ , a loud burst of color and light in the center of a grey, yellowing living room. Louis’ heart is swelling with every growing second. 

“What’s the time?” Louis bites his lower lip, a little out of breath. The night sky arches up, illuminated in stars through the low window behind Harry. 

“It’s uh.. About twenty minutes to midnight.” Harry answers, tilting his watch to the side, genuinely baffled. It’s a very neat watch, Rolex probably, with gold letters even. Louis wouldn’t be surprised at all. 

“Can we go to the terrace?” Louis shifts, socked feet knocking against the lights and decorations. “Upstairs? It’s only two stories up.” 

Harry’s eyes are wide and tentative but _trusting_ when he gathers his coat with nimble hands and slowly gets up. 

Louis’ hands instinctively reach his, fingers interlacing in eased practice. 

***

“Two minutes Harry.” Louis has his eyes on the grey skyline. Smog and dust settle low on the city, everything is bright and alive and cold with large yellow lamps dotting the landscape. Everywhere. It’s all over, buzzing in energy, vehicles honking and cold tires skidding in the distance, the sky melting into the cracks of cemented streets. 

The city. The loud, loud city. 

“Christmas Eve.” Harry quips, innocent and sweet on Louis’ side, his eyes on the skyline as well. It’s all slow blinks and fluttering eyelashes, centering all the beauty within a singular gaze. 

“And my birthday.” Louis feels a smile creep on as he turns to look at Harry’s face that actually _freezes_. It quite literally comes to a jarring stop, like a speeding train hitting the brakes, screeching and coming to a standstill, a proper horrified look melting its way into his features. 

And then the clock dings. Loud and clear. Echoing across the landscape. 

It’s midnight. 

“24th December, it’s my-” Louis starts, planning on taking it slow and letting Harry ease out with all the brand new information being thrown his way; but of course. Of course he doesn’t get the chance. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Harry’s nearly crying, hands clutching at Louis’ t-shirt and pulling him in, every damn star above them being mocked for their sub-par beauty.

Louis’s being kissed, he’s being devoured as Harry’s practically pushing him to the cold floor, hands roaming down his body and being pressed at with fiery adamance. 

A tire screeches loudly on tar somewhere lost in the smog of the city when Louis’ brain clicks and bam- he’s pushing back with all the insistence he can muster. It’s breathless and desperate and full of intent as they pour in every last bit of emotion that surges right through every swipe of their tongues, fingertips blazing as they graze down supple skin of waists and cheeks and chins and collarbones.

It’s Louis letting himself get filled with Harry and all the everlasting emotions he instills within his goddamn soul on a daily basis. It’s him forgetting what air feels like and letting Harry push down deeper, letting him completely lose grasp of reality and get lost in the heat of the moment instead. 

It’s Harry being every last essential part of Louis’ soul. 

“This is going to be really cliché since I didn’t get to plan properly. I was meaning to show you this anyways.” Harry breaks away from that stellar kiss, manic and ablaze with fire in his irises. His hands shake as he desperately pushes his hand into his coat pocket, gulping sporadically. Louis’ fingers linger on his waist, quiet and buzzing, Harry’s love handles pressing into the tips. 

Harry brings his hand out, shy and soft and precious as ever. He’s holding something and oh- 

It’s his drawing book. 

“Don’t tell me.” Louis’ breath hitches, catching in his throat. 

Of course. Of fucking _course_ it’s his drawing book. 

“So I’ve been drawing a lot, way more since uh.. You came into my life.” Harry rushes as his cheeks crinkle, shy and gentle. He thumbs at the leather of his book, rings turning against the moonlight. “Being creative is easy when paired with passion. And you-you are someone I’m really, madly passionate about Louis.” 

Louis waits, forcing air into his lungs. His knees twitch slightly, fidgety at the sight of Harry’s open, clear gaze. He wants to fucking devour him. 

“So I kept drawing. I was never like, taught or anything but just went for it most of the time. Drew everything my heart said was right.” Harry explains. He looks slightly vulnerable now, a pale hand coming to graze Louis’ cheek. “Everything about you.” 

Louis’s about to break the fragility and pounce on Harry for another, bruising long kiss but the thought withers away immediately when Harry’s fingers are digging into the pages of his book now, gently opening the pages. 

Opening the same book Louis’ eyes had first set on two months back. 

“It was nothing much in the beginning, I was just drawing the lanes, lamps, moon andstars of the Communitas and all other kinds of random shit.” Harry laughs, a little self conscious. He angles the book towards Louis who squints slightly through the darkness. 

It’s a mess. 

An… Artistic mess. A living cliché Harry is. 

There isn’t much that Louis can even make sense of. Jagged lines resembling long pillars and scribbly, squiggly trees coated in layers of graphite shading, few martini glasses too probably; everything simply scattered haphazardly. 

“Remember that day, in the veranda when I told you I like to play around with my drawings?” Harry clears his throat, thumbing at the page, “So here’s me playing around with it. Nothing makes any sense here.” He laughs, low and hoarse. “But-”

“You botch up everything that frustrates you.” Louis directly quotes Harry’s words from that evening, an airy feeling floating in his lungs. 

“Yeah.” Harry nods, looking down. He turns the page. “That’s where… You came in after a bit.” 

Louis’ heart picks up pace infinitesimally as he angles the book again, catching sight of… 

“Oh wow.” He breathes out, eyes widening. 

It’s a figure. There’s a shakily drawn figure in graphite stains and hints of peaking amateurishness clear in the imperfect drawing. But it’s glamorous and stunning because it isn’t all. There’s large heavy strokes across the page, frustrated shading in the corners, randomly shaded flowers smattered all across the pages, even actual beer bottles and haphazardly made countertops visible somewhere through the heavy shading. 

“This is where my uh, where I started getting agitated.” Harry explains, turning the page. “You. You were this wondrous, gorgeous boy who had caught my eye and through all your beauty and strides and the relentless work you put in every day; there was a…. Disconnect.” He fumbles. “A beautiful, eye catching disconnect. It threw me right across the edge.” 

“Harry…” Louis mumbles through moist words. 

There are more of such drawings. Huge frustrated graphite streaks splattered across the pages, angry scribbling, trees, vans, glasses, pavements all randomly drawn page after page, large and screaming of agitation. And there’s the same figure on every page, sometimes decorated in tiny flowers of tiaras or whatever random quirk Harry thought up of. The same, carefully drawn figure. 

“But then-” Harry perks up, insistent and soft. He ruffles the pages forward. “Then things gained some clarity when you told me about Oxford and the Theatre and all of that. It spurred me even further.” 

Because now, when Louis turns the pages, the drawings are larger. Clearer. Bolder. 

It’s the same figure here too, and it’s perched on top of a bunk bed with a tiara neatly drawn atop the tiny, daintily scribbled head. There’s…. Books and files and notebooks all around and- 

“Trophies?” Louis sputters out, wet and incredulous. 

“Yeah. It’s like a metaphor. Um.” Harry laughs, shy like a fawn and prettier than every star above them. 

Louis watches him for a few, lingering seconds before averting his gaze back down. He quickens his pace a bit now, ruffling across all the flawed, imperfect, _gorgeous_ drawings, graphite and parchment scents filling his senses. He sees the same figure in multiple random settings, atop park benches, near bridges and even _waterfalls_ , everything drawn with a sort of pressing beauty to it. There’s always the tiara and even tiny occasional hearts decorated around before- 

Oh. 

Then comes the theatre. 

The figure is onstage now, feet almost levitating off the mess of squiggly lines that must be the auditorium. It’s beautifully done though, heavily shaded and scratched here and there but it’s breathtaking to watch. The figure is larger, prettier than all the other tiny figures onstage and it’s- 

It’s exactly what Louis was that night. Bold. Fierce. Invincible. 

It’s him. 

“Wow that’s…” Louis starts, pressing fingertips on the parchment in pure awe. 

“It’s me making it all up in my head. Like it’s how I imagined things had gone for you.” Harry explains, rubbing a self conscious hand through his hair.

“No, it’s perfect.” Louis replies, still breathless. Because the next few drawings show the figure cowering now, tiny, small and daintily scribbled across the lines. The tiara is still atop though but the setting has changed completely. There’s the figure hiding in some places while large headlines are written across the page, loud and capitalized, crowding near the tiny head. There’s horrifyingly gut wrenching scenes where the figure is a tiny, scratchy _thing_ while every other surrounding is screaming down at it, huge trees lining pavements and pubs full of smoke and voices, but- 

“The tiara is still there.” Louis whispers. Because it is, it stays very much intact no matter how tiny the actual figure is, page after page, graphite staining Louis’ fingers as he thumbs. 

“Of course it is.” Harry replies, leaning to kiss Louis’ temple. He looks down, soft, “It’s always going to be there.” 

“Why aren’t you here?” Louis presses, ignoring the way his voice quivers. He feels open, vulnerable this way. But Harry’s gaze is strong, strong like all the damn time. 

“It’s your story not mine.” Harry leans in, ruffling the pages forward. 

The last drawing is of the figure in a living room. Louis’ living room. It’s the night where Harry and he had pulled out all the files and records, clear in the way scribbled, messy lines are shaped into boxes and folders. There’s music playing in the drawing too, indicated by the delicately made symbols roaming across the page. 

“You have to be a part of these Harry. So many of these.” Louis swallows, staring at the page for long enough until his vision blurs. 

Harry literally drew his story. Of all things in the world, it’s _him_ he chose. “But _you_ are what makes me so passionate Louis. It’s your story; I’m just a small part of it.” Harry’s delicate hands touch Louis’ cold ones. 

“Not small.” Louis looks up, actual tears welling through all of it. He catches the emotion in Harry’s own gaze, stars twinkling in its wake. “Not small at all. You’re every essential part of me Harry. Everything that makes me feel strong.” 

“But it isn’t complete Louis.” Harry looks down, slight tension marring the edges of his action. He ruffles the pages, pointing down. “It isn’t complete.” 

“I know.” Louis replies, drawing out a long sigh. 

Of course it isn’t complete. 

“Hey.” Harry prompts, going to touch the nape of Louis’ neck with his fingers. He gently brings Louis’ face close to give a delicate peck on his quivering lips. 

“Hey.” Louis breathes out. Harry’s intoxicating. 

“Hey it’s-”

“New Years’ Eve is in a week.” Louis cuts in, leaning back. Something steely creeps into his voice as he jabs at the pages, his vision blackening as the night shimmers. “The story will be complete. I will complete it.” 

Harry’s smile immediately shoots right across his face. It’s an award winning grin, a grand, luxurious one, akin to a millionaire successfully winning an auction. It’s content and gorgeous, red lips stretched in almost... Pride. 

“Thank you- I’m barely able to express anything right now all thanks to you being so unbelievable every damn time, but really-” Louis starts, full to the brim with so much that his sentences come out sounding broken and torn and muffled which is really _not_ what he wants right now. But Harry silences him, silences him in that one, stupidly endearing way that means kissing him. Their lips meet in an unhurried way, aligning in place as Louis presses, insistent and fragile and so, so grateful. 

Harry’s lips part, everything dazzling all around. He speaks warmly, tasting like cherries before pressing against Louis’ mouth once more.

“Happy Birthday darling.” 

***

“You don’t have work today right?” Harry whispers, fingers lacing through Louis’ hair, the night slowly setting in outside. 

He feels a little uncharacteristically tensed against Louis’ slumped, resting figure and Louis can’t seem to understand why. The couch feels uncomfortable, itchy underneath, very unlike every other night Louis has spent on it with Harry. 

“No, I don’t. Got leave.” Louis mumbles, too tired to form coherent words. They kissed for too long on the terrace, too passionate and intense for Louis’ exhaustion levels. He loves it though, loves how full his body feels with the rush of all of it. The _thrill_. 

“All through Christmas then?” Harry’s speaking again. He feels rigid, not half as exhausted as Louis himself is. So Louis twists a little, pressing his hands to Harry’s torso and sliding it across his slim waist. 

“Sleep Harry. I don’t have work, don’t worry.” Louis whispers, words dragging. It’s cold and Harry’s warm but- he’s so _tense_. Like he’s almost waiting for something, all his joints locked up and not loose at all unlike how a sleepy figure should be. 

“Harry?” Louis tries whispering against his neck, pressing fingertips into his lovehandles, “What’s wrong love? Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

That doesn’t help. It doesn’t help at all. 

Because Harry’s sort of shivering now, the balance of the moment having completely toppled right off. He’s gulping a little, tensing up even further before drawing in a huge breath and speaking against Louis’ terrified figure, pleading in his tone “Louis listen…” 

The moment quite literally rattles on Louis’ palms. 

“I-I have to go.” 

What- 

“Haz?” All exhaustion promptly sucks right out of Louis’ bones, perplexed by the sudden statement. He leans back, arms leaving Harry’s body. “It’s the middle of the night-“ 

“I have to go.” Harry lifts himself off of Louis, leaning forward and getting off of the couch completely. It’s fucking terrifying, is what it is. 

“Harry-” Louis starts, electricity being jolted straight into his joints because hey, this is what the whole thing is right? All the secrets Harry keeps from him, all those unanswered questions- this is part of the utter ridiculousness that comes with that lack of trust. This is what it fucking leads up to. 

“You’re not- Harry _what_?” Louis feels ruptures underneath his chest. He trusts Harry, he loves him to a point of breathlessness every single day, this- how is he to respond to this? This one huge disconnect. It isn’t like doesn’t realize it. 

“I’ll- It’s a few hours only. Please.” Harry’s already tucking his feet into his boots, stumbling on his movements, eyes wide and pleading. 

Louis’ hands shake, blankets bunched up around his small figure. 

Fuck- this is unfair okay? This is- Harry can’t be doing this. 

But he’s so tired. He’s so, so tired and full of so many emotions, so much unyielding _love_ for this same very person right here- he can’t get himself to confront him. How can he? He’s weak after all. Weak and brittle in the face of love. 

“Where are you going?” Louis mumbles, weak and so, so tired. His words echo through the house, patching on the heavy walls. 

Harry’s body quite literally freezes and he’s…. He looks so lost. So tired himself. 

Louis loves him so much. Way too much. 

“I’ll..” Harry trails off, red mouth agape and glinting in the sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains. He’s walking, bridging the gap between Louis and him before whispering against cold lips, “I’ll be there when you wake up. I promise.” 

“ _Promise_? Harry this isn’t-“ 

_“You don’t actually study at a university do you?”_ Louis wants to yell out because of fucking _course_ he doesn’t. It doesn’t make any sense _at all_. 

“Louis-” Harry tries. 

“What is it? What are you hiding from me?” Louis grits out, proper frustrated tears simmering to the surface now. “Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?” 

“I literally _belong_ to you, you know that?” Harry’s shaking, broken and sounding so, so lost. He picks up Louis’ hand in his own pale one, pressing it against his chest. There’s a warm beating heart underneath, the one Louiswants to soak up in his fingertips, wants to wrap around his own soul. “And I’m never, ever going to do anything to hurt you.” 

And yet. Yet he isn’t answering the goddamn question. 

Louis doesn’t push though. He doesn’t because he’s on a boardwalk see, he’s on the center of a plank where there’s love and adoration for one person brimming on one side; while the very other side holds something terrifyingly akin to betrayal. 

Distrust- instilled by the same person. The same person who is literally holding all his pieces right now. 

“I’ll stay every morning after that. I promise.” Harry goes on. On and on- what’s the point? He isn’t being straightforward anyways. Might as well just leave. 

“Loving you can be so terrifying sometimes.” Louis whispers mostly to himself, giddy and sad, swaying through the darkness, hands clammy and chest tight, “You’re all I have you know.” 

Harry’s pulling away now; he’s pleading and breathtaking and stumbling as he does so. His shoulders and hands shiver delicately as he looks away; plain, obvious guilt cutting through his gaze when he pulls on his coat. 

Is it even guilt? Is it? Louis doesn’t know. Harry looks lost more than anything. That’s… that’s the last thing Harry is. He’s never lost. 

So it’s big then. Whatever is being hidden is big and terrifying and Louis doesn’t dare to seek. 

“I’ll be there, holding you when you wake up. I promise I will.” Harry’s nearly gone now, his voice barely echoing when he shuts the door and thuds it loud enough for Louis to feel his heart promptly wither into the floorboards of his home. 

***

“Is it still my birthday?” 

It’s nearly afternoon and the world is blazing blues and orange. It’s lighting up the sky and tearing through the smog that settles over Nottingham, leaving behind a wintry haze. There are a few birds too, somewhere amongst the watercolor pallet that the city sky transforms into as mornings blend into noon. They’re singing, singing a sad, distant tune that lulls through the windows and floats into Louis’ home. 

Harry feels firm and real. Exhaustion is set into the lines of his face, strands of semi long hair curling down the side of his creased forehead when he blinks awake against the sunlight, against the press of Louis’ forehead. 

“It is. It’s still your birthday.” Harry murmurs, limbs heavy against Louis. His body is solid though, glowing in cold sunlight. 

He’s here. He’s really here. He didn’t leave like he normally does. 

Last night... No. It doesn’t matter. They love each other. It doesn’t matter. 

“It’s Christmas Eve.” Louis whispers, too drowsy to move. He should though, his bladder is speaking and it’s midday already. 

“We’ve to decorate the house. Long day.” Harry contradicts himself, showing no sign of movement and just pressing even closer. Warm, sweet and smelling like vanilla candles. 

“I know.” 

Louis doesn’t quite know how willing he is to move himself.

It’s his birthday though. The day he was born, the day of self indulgence and pampering oneself and everything else that just comes along as a default. 

It used to be one of the few days Louis used to actually look forward to through his growing up years. He wasn’t ever rich as such, with a single mother and 5 siblings everything was kept quite grounded but Louis- he still flew high. Untouched. Birthday’s equated to attention. Louis _loved_ attention. Swallowed it whole and left no bits to spare. Noone ever dared question him- how could they? With all the charisma and unyielding charm and natural knack for everything; how could anyone possibly question Louis Tomlinson. 

Exactly two years ago he’d sat atop the rooftop of a club in London, whiskey bottle in hand and the world at his feet as he’d yelled into the night sky, elated and buzzing with all his mates surrounding him. Hooting, cheering, whistling, everyone had been too inebriated to properly wish him as such, letting themselves float away in the high of the moment instead. Semester had ended, Christmas was on its way, Louis Tomlinson was all of nineteen and the future was dazzling bright; leaving no space for anything but joy. Cheers. 

“If you’d told me in that moment, when everything was etched in raw energy and hope atop a literal rooftop bar in the middle of London; that I’m gonna be by myself and a beer bottle exactly a year later- I would not have even listened to you finish the sentence.” Louis says to Harry as they amble around the house in the middle of the afternoon to hang up all the decorations Harry had brought along with him. 

“I’m not sure if I was even sad as such. Lonely yeah, but I don’t know... I did talk to mum and my sisters and even cut a small, crappy looking cake but it wasn’t the same.” Louis scrunches his eyebrows, eyeing the green and red furry wreath that refuses to align against the wall. He huffs out after a bit, pulling away from the damp wall, “Of course it wasn’t the same.” 

“You know, this is what you’re _not_ going to do today.” Harry’s walking towards him, letting go of the yellow lights he had in his hand and not really bothering when it slides to the floor and resonates against the floorboards. His body immediately grabs hold of Louis’ waist, arms slithering across his sides. He smells of Louis’ body wash, of apples and peaches and really- that shouldn’t be half as much of a turn on as it is to Louis. But it is and Louis feels pure elation. 

“What?” Louis presses his cheek against Harry’s warm one, letting his body loosen. 

“Not going to bring such depressing moods into a day like this. It’s joyous today, it’s the day you were born.” Harry presses, tangled hair that smells sweet like cherries immediately filling Louis’ senses. 

“Yeah? Then can we not do anything at all today and kiss the whole time instead?” Louis giggles, stupidly endeared by nothing in particular. “Forget decorations or making the house look festive. ‘Tis not important. You’re here.” 

“Of course we could.” Harry smiles, gorgeous as ever as sunlight breaks through the windows. He kisses Louis, open mouthed and sweet. “But adding a bit of dazzle to the top doesn’t hurt too much- unless you specifically don’t want to. Like, it’s your birthday after all.” 

Well. Ha. 

“I think it’s enough actually. We can put up the Tree in the evening, I just-” Louis leans in again, connecting their lips. Fond creeps into his gaze as he interlocks his fingers with Harry’s, “-Just want you now.” 

“You’ll always have me. I belong to you remember?” Harry leans in, curls assaulting Louis’ senses when he goes to press fingertips to the back of Harry’s 

neck. 

Of course Louis remembers. It’s what Harry had said to him last night before fleeing the place, before leaving behind a literal void in the living room. 

It’s just… It’s Christmas Eve okay? Louis’ birthday too. Whatever happened last night can be locked away in a chest and quite literally flung to the bottom of the seabed because Louis doesn’t _care_. He’s too weak and too much in love to look in any other direction right now. Every moment with Harry is dazzlingly real. 

“Oh and before that-” Harry’s just about smiling into the kiss, stupidly charming as he does so before Louis is suddenly met by empty air as Harry abruptly pulls away.

“Don’t keep fucking doing that!” Louis grumbles, hating the sudden emptiness around him. He loathes it, is absolutely seething. 

“-No, I’m just-” Harry’s searching around the living room, socked feet padding on the floorboards. He had brought along an extra pair of clothes, neatly packed into a small bag that now lies in Louis’ cupboard, between his own clothes and that- that is the only damn feeling in the universe that matters. This is Harry and him. 

Harry’s looking underneath the coffee table, ducking his head and tripping a bit when his sweatpants catch at his feet before clutching for a beige bag and sliding it out, “-Here it is. Presents!” 

_Presents_. 

“Did I forget to tell you not to make any purchases? Or did I really just say it all in my head and assume you heard me?” Louis positively gapes, tripping on the cold floor that creaks slightly. Harry’s silhouette bends, a shadow stretching across the living room when he sits upright again, pulling the bag and turning it upside down. Straight up. 

“I don’t think you told me that, but also, most of these are from my mom and sister anyways.” Harry casually replies, sorting through all the items that had plonked to the table and wait, did he just say- 

“Mom and sister? Your _family_ knows about me?” Louis beckons forward, eyes catching sight of at least eight to ten different items neatly gift wrapped in bright, Christmassy colors, all of them now being segregated by Harry’s large, patient hands. 

“Of course they do Louis.” Harry replies in that typical ‘matter of factly’ tone of his. He beckons Louiscloser, pointing to a particular pile of presents, “Those are from mum.” He points to another pile, “From Gemma.” And in one swift motion he swipes out a small leather case and pops it open. “Matching rings from me.” 

Matching rings, yes. Silvery glinting ones neatly sit inside the small case. It’s probably real platinum too and Louis can barely even feel his face, too shocked to make any movement. More sunlight pours in, the world blazing away in the periphery. 

“Louis?” 

“What am I going to do?” 

“What?” 

“How the hell do I accept all of this?” 

Harry’s smiling. He’s unabashedly _smiling_ , unbothered by Louis’ promptly petrified face. He slings a gentle arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him down to sit on the side, “I know my family adores you a lot. And these are only Christmas presents that we thankfully planned beforehand; if I had known it was also your birthday-”

“Jesus, no. Harry shut up.” Louis scolds, too full of adoration. 

Harry’s family knows about him then. About them. 

It’s… It feels spectacularly huge. 

“You can open all of these later, but this-” Harry dismisses all the wrapped presents, waving a slow hand across. He’s shy and very flower-like, dainty as ever as he slowly opens the case with the matching rings. Platinum shines and glints off the sunlight. “-I got these engraved a while back. It says-”

“Hand in hand, we went down a Smoke Hole.” Louis reads it out, breathless and really- what is air?? It’s so much. So, so much. 

“Yeah uh- sort of cliché I guess-“ 

“Shut up.” Louis slots their lips together, gratitude and pure adoration flitting through his lungs, pouring all of it into Harry’s mouth. “I’ve never had matching rings before. This is perfect and really Harry? You think I’m going to dismiss something like this when I’m a living, breathing cliché myself?”

He is. He absolutely fucking is. 

A broken soul which gets mended and repaired over time by love and strength; because the world was too harsh at one point- Louis Tomlinson is a cliché. A proud one.

“ _We_ are living cliché’s.” Harry’s grinning into the kiss, sliding the ring down his empty index finger as five fingers now stay bedecked in jewels. 

“Hold that title high.” Louis slowly pushes them to the floor, dragging his lips down Harry’s chin, to his neck, wet marks tracing down hot skin. 

Nothing else matters; nothing at all. 

***

Louis calls his mum at 11pm. 

It’s when Harry and he are sitting beside the window sill right after cutting the cake, the gorgeously huge cake- probably the best cake Louis had ever even seen. Or eaten. 

“I think they messed up the fondant. It’s clumpy.” Harry had scrunched up his face when the box had opened and right there, lying in a beautiful mess was fondant and whipped cream and layers of cake. 

It was a proper, grand one too. Two layers of chocolate cake with vanilla icing in between the layers, all of it covered in pink and blue fondant. It was decorated with sugar beads and macarons and candy sticks with sprinkles marring the edges. And as if all of that wasn’t enough already, as if Louis’ face wasn’t tired of smiling already, right there on the top was- 

“Is that _me_??” Louis had practically burst out, shell shocked and frozen. Because there it is, a literal doll made of fondant and icing sitting atop the cake, limbs hanging down and frosted arms on either side. It’s properly done, very neat and really- that’s him. That’s literally Louis. “Is that really me- Harry!!” 

“What? I found it very cute.” Harry giggled by his side, leaning to kiss Louis’ cheek. He thinks he’s so very smart, ha. “It’s miniature you. You’re quite literally on top of the world, look.” 

He is. Oh yeah, he absolutely is. Miniature Louis’ legs barely cover a quarter of the cake from the top, it’s right on top, sticks of pink candy and macaroons stuffed on all sides, making it the center of attention. 

“And you were saying it’s _clumpy_.” Louis muttered, mock teasing and honestly- he doesn’t even _need_ any of this. He has Harry here, who is always present to kiss and touch and feel on his skin. That’s really all Louis needs today.

But they did cut the cake, huge candles lighting up and setting Louis’ gaze on fire as it crackled through the evening air and stirred something fierce in Louis’ chest. The cake was cut with breathy, enthusiastic yells echoing around him, with lips perpetually near his neck and cheeks and a firm arm around his waist. Harry had twirled him around the room and kissed him with cream on his lips, barely giving him time to even properly eat the cake as they’d danced and sang and stayed pressingly close through the hours that simply melted away before them. 

Louis doesn’t let go at all. He refuses, pressing and adamant and _demanding_ as he had cut slices of heavy cake on a single plate and dragged Harry to the window sill, bumping knees and elbows and sweeping himself away with the rawness of everything. 

The house was lit up, wreaths dangling on multiple hooks, yellow lights hanging across the television set and curled all around the room. Even the red and green lights that Louis was hell bent on not hanging up at all (he was so sure it wouldn’t go with the rest of the décor)- even those added a dazzle to all of it. “Ha! I told you it would go well.” Harry had smugly said, eyeing the home that is now aglow and incandescent. Christmas vibes...With a few birthday streamers haphazardly thrown around because Harry had been stubborn, “It’s your birthday too; more important than Christmas- so we’re doing both!” 

Of course. Of course Louis had complied, happy and bouncy as he did so. 

The cake was delicious and Harry’s kisses were sweet and his fingertips burning as they sat near the window sill, fingers tangled in each others’ hair and palms resting on the nape of their neck and Louis- he took it in. He barely acknowledged the half eaten cake beside him and instead indulged himself in Harry, feet knocking, arms bumping and mouths blazing in desperation as they kissed the hours away. 

And when they separated, with red mouths set agape and eyes glimmering, Louis had pressed his forehead to Harry’s.

“How much more time do I have?” Louis whispered, intoxicated. 

“For what?” Harry frowned. 

“For the day to end?” Louis feels a thumping underneath his chest. It’s his heart beating, insistent and fierce; it feels bubbly and whole and it’s great. The day has been great; the best day of Louis’ life probably. It’s still not over, there is time and it’s slipping away but- still. The night is charmingly gorgeous and Harry’s here, real and beautiful and yet. Yet …. This isn’t it. 

“It’s-” Harry gently slides away, fingers loosening their hold on Louis’ neck. He glances at the clock, woozy as he does so. “11 pm. Like, a little past it.” 

It’s ending. The day is ending. 

“I-” Louis inhales, something changing, something heavy settling into the air. He lets go of Harry, a little desperate and drowsy as he slides off the small couch in front of the window. The night sky blinks in confusion, stars sparking to life when Louis stumbles to the carpet, lying down horizontally, “Harry..” 

“What? What happened? Louis?” Harry’s eyes drop to the floor in confusion, concerned eyes settling on Louis’ figure. He doesn’t waste a second before sliding to the carpet himself, crawling over Louis, his face wide and thighs resting on either side, “What happened?” 

Louis sort of wants to pull him completely on top, sort of wants to forget everything else and instead give into temptation. He can slide his hands down Harry’s waist instead, can touch him everywhere he desires and let the rest of the hours blaze away completely. Unbothered and free and firing away purely on desire. 

But that’s….. His birthday isn’t even complete yet. 

“I’ve never spent a birthday without speaking to my family. My mum.” Louis mumbles, something raw scratching the back of his throat. Harry’s face becomes a blur in front, “I’ve never like… It feels incomplete.” 

“Of course it does Louis.” Harry’s face softens, cheeks crinkling near his eyes. The ceiling looks very dull behind him. “You should call her you know, it’s for the best. You love her.” 

And Louis does. He does love his family despite the mountains of disappointments and regrets he had buried himself in, despite all he had done to cut himself off from everyone he loved. The feeling doesn’t go away, it never does. It’s his own demons that kept him away from doing the right thing all this time. His _own_ perceptions of how the world had hurt him. 

And now? Now it’s changing. It’s over. 

“I’m going to just go for it. Throw myself down a goddamn smoke hole.” Louis breathes out a shaky sigh and gently pries himself off the floor, leaning to peck Harry once before scrambling towards the telephone lying near the window sill. 

The sky is vast and arches before his eyes as he picks up the phone with shaky hands. 

There’s no time. No time at all- he _is_ doing this. 

“I’m not- not going to think this through so feel free to cut off the electricity if things go downhill, okay?” Louis fumbles for the dial, catching Harry sigh longingly in the periphery. The living room looks cozy, warm and neat and actually homely for once. Yellow spots flicker into Louis’ eyes, everything caught in a haze. 

“Okay? Harry?” 

“Yeah. I’m right here.” Harry replies, a little exasperated as he sits on the couch in front. 

So. 

So Louis dials in the number. He remembers it by heart, it’s ingrained in the back of his mind and despite not actually dialing it for so many months; it’s very much engraved right in. 

The clock ticks, slow and torturous as the phone rings into Louis’ ear. Once, twice, thrice and then- 

“Hello?”

Bam. 

“Mum.” Louis immediately lets out the long breath he had been subconsciously holding in, hands shaking as he clutches the phone closer. 

This is it. This is really it. 

This is the same person who has watched him fly high through clouds and soar through success and achievements for years on end; as well as watch the descent. She had watched it all of it, dainty and undeterred through the ultimate collapse as well. 

“Oh.. Is this-” The voice coughs, it’s a little muffled but definitely there. 

“Yeah. Louis, that’s me. Mum.” Louis presses, agitated and way bolder than he had ever imagined. There’s no reason to be scared. None at all. Right? 

The lights sway and dazzle, Harry watching with careful eyes as Louis takes in a deep breath and averts his eyes away. 

She’s speaking. His mum. 

“Are you alright love? Is everything okay?”

Of course that’s the first question she asks. 

It’s cliché. It’s so _stupidly_ cliché. 

“Yeah I am mum. More than alright actually.” Louis rattles out a breath, not bothering to hide the small smile that creeps across his cold, red lips. He is definitely more than alright. “I uh. Mum.” He draws in a breath, lips quivering, “Mum I’m sorry.” 

There it is. Said in a single, cold breath. 

“What for?” The voice replies, a little drowsy, static cutting through for momentary seconds. Everything is far too quiet and Louis is practically brimming with words here; there’s so much he wants to say, so, so much he wants to yell out through frustrated tears. It has been too long. He should never have left home, should never have fled the way he had. 

But… But Harry wouldn’t be here then. 

Something thuds hard underneath Louis’ chest. 

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time ma. I just... Where are you?” Louis swallows. Once, twice. The sky is so, so bright. 

“I’m at home, love. Putting Phoebe to bed.” His mum replies, calm and gentle exactly the way Louis remembers. It’s so distinct, the memory burns right through all the layers of heavy emotion. 

His sisters, yes. He remembers them- loves them. There is so much he wants to ask about them, about how much they’ve grown over the year, if Daisy still takes broccoli with bread, if their rooms are still decked in pink and yellow wallpapers, if they still have to be sung to sleep- there’s time for that though. Now is not the time for it. 

“I’ll try to like, make this as fast as possible.” Louis fumbles. It’s not that he doesn’t want to stay; in fact that’s exactly what he needs right now. But there’s a difference, see. This is not the time to cry his eyes out on the other end of the line when there is much more that hasn’t even conquered yet- he isn’t calling his mum after ten months just to be pathetic about it. “So I uh... You know I’m not in the city anymore.”

“The Communitas. I know Louis. We spoke last year.” The voice softens. That... was that the last time they had spoken? It’s been too long. Way too long. Things had only gotten worse since then and Louis- he had been so, so horrible about it. So _cowardly_. 

“Yeah mum. It’s... I’m sorry I didn’t call after. Things sort of... It just-” Louis tries. He really tries to form the words but it’s so _hard_. “-I lost myself a little too much I guess. Had lost my grasp of reality after a bit.” 

The line hums, cold air sticking to Louis’ knuckles. 

“And what changed after that?” His mum presses a bit, delicately so. 

The question is genuine and soft and it’s Louis’ mum being every damn thing he remembers her as. Always gentle. Even through his outbursts, even through all the nights he’d spent thrashing about in his bedroom, even when he had walked right out of him goddamn home with a pathetic excuse and heavy heart in hand- even _then_ she never pushed. 

So Louis has answers now. 

“That’s a big question ma.” Louis laughs, a little breathless. He twists the cord of the phone between his fingers, forcing down a bout of tears. “I... Things got better I guess. I found someone.” 

The sentence is quite literally dropped like a boulder. Right in the centre of the goddamn room, echoing off the walls. 

“Oh really? That’s wonderful Louis.” Something heavy creeps into her tone now, emotion bubbling rapidly. “Who is he?” Louis can almost feel her tender smile through the next few words, the line humming, “Do you love him?”

 _Love_. 

“I do. A lot.” Louis responds in an instant, barely has to even think through it. He looks up, something hot immediately filling his chest as he catches even Harry smiling, shy and delicate. He’s rubbing his ring- the matching ring, his eyes set in a fond gaze. Louis touches his own ring, the platinum letters bold in his eyes, “His name is Harry. Met him at the pub I’m working at.” 

“You’re still there love? Still working there?” His mum sounds insistent, words pressing like bullets. She has so many innocent questions and she isn’t holding herself back right now. It’s a little terrifying. 

“Mum. Mum- listen.” Louis swings his legs now, pumping proper energy into his bones. He isn’t running around with it any further; there’s no point of doing that. He’s braver than that now. “I’m not staying within the Communitas for too long. I’m not like- I’m coming to the city. Putting in my resignation at the pub in a week and going to look for a job at the theatre. On New Years’ Eve. I’ve got a resume and everything and I just- It’s all going to be over very soon.” 

The window pane rattles, cold gust of air blowing in tandem to Louis’ voice. 

He said it. He said all of it. 

This is it then? This is literally how it’s going to be and saying it out loud this way, despite all the clamminess creeping down his skin and exhausted pull at his limbs, there’s a firmness to his words. 

The line stays silent for a while, everything thudding against Louis’ eardrums. 

“It’s all going to be over very soon.” His mum repeats them, slow and almost incredulous. “You got there Louis. You got the strength finally.” 

“No I just... I’m not so scared anymore.” Louis mumbles out, voice wet. 

“That’s exactly where your strength lies.” More silence. 

The clock is ticking. It’s ticking fast. 

“It’s probably going to be some small theatre. Nothing too grand right now because there’s still time for that.” Louis continues, hands shivering. “I’ll do everything I can mum. It’s alright if I never completely get to the top; it’s still something I love doing.” 

There’s a sudden whimper, prompting Louis’ head to snap up instantly. 

Harry- he’s… crying. 

Louis stares for a few seconds, too shocked to say anything as the line hums in static. Harry’s dabbing at his eyes with the back of his large black jumper, smiling down, eyes wet and nose red. And when he looks up, through all the tears, there’s something bright and fierce embedded there, breaking through the lull of the room and slamming right at Louis. 

He’s… He’s _proud_. 

Louis feels the gaze resonate within his bones. 

“I know.” Louis’ mum continues in the periphery, soft as ever. And right there, right in that moment with the sky stretched out above in deep velvet; with Harry half crying and smiling proudly, legs curled up, beautiful as ever on Louis’ couch and his mum there too, gently providing reassurance through the phone- It’s right there when Louis feels a thunderous victory. He feels a surge of _blinding_ , fierce victory. 

“Mum.” Is all Louis whispers, throat having gone raw. 

_‘Hand in hand, we went down a Smoke Hole_ ’ The words on his ring glint up at him. As though proving a point. 

“Happy Birthday Louis.” His mum replies, something final about her tone, voice barely above a heavy murmur. 

The clock dings just then. It echoes through the city and whips into Louis’ home through the moist windows. 

Louis shuffles a bit, voice breaking as he whispers back. “Merry Christmas mom.” 

***

“She knew it wasn’t going to last.” Louis whispers that night, long, long after. 

“Hm?” 

“Mum knew. She knew I’d get back up. It was in her voice.” 

“Everyone knew Louis. It’s _you_ we’re talking about.” Harry’s fingers drop down, squeezing Louis’ waist gently. 

“It’s all really going to change then.” Louis murmurs, heavy words simmering. A little incredulous. 

“It is. All of it is.” 

“Everything?” 

“Everything.” 

“And you’ll be there?” 

The answer is instant. 

“All the way through Louis.” 

Their rings glint in unison, platinum glowing white. 


	5. Chapter 5

Louis barely breathes through the week after that. 

He refuses to let himself breathe. Refuses to strain his lungs. 

Except if it’s for Harry, because… Well. 

It’s like the last puzzle piece being fitted into place. 

It’s the last week that his feet feel the soil within the Communitas. The last week for Louis to inhale the early morning fragrances of lemon grass in his kitchen while tea bubbles on the stove, for him to remember the scent, the feel, the cold touch of his tiny balcony, listen to the crickets sing as sunrise filters in and washes away any late night tiredness. 

It’s the last few days for Louis to look at the place as a place of learning, of growth, of finding love; as somewhere that holds more value than the sad, bitter residence he had looked at it as all through all these months. 

“It’s literally all gone. Whoosh!” Louis had said through a breathless laugh on Christmas evening as he’d rested his head upon Harry’s bare chest after they’d twirled around and erected the Christmas tree. He listened to the heartbeat underneath. “I don’t hate this place anymore. I never thought that was possible.” 

“But here you are.” Harry smiled down, fingers gently carding through his hair. 

The two of them had spent Christmas within each others’ arms, naked arms and legs staying tangled through most of the day, safe and secure and interlocked perfectly; far, far away from the cold, icy winds rushing past the wooden doors and windows. They sang Christmas Carols only to each other, wrapped in mittens and quilts with ridiculous looking scarves rested atop their freshly washed hair while clutching on one another just because it feels good and feels right 

Harry had allowed him to open the presents too; leading to a huge, shocking display of perfume assortments, hand woven woolens, expensive porcelain cups, luxurious handmade chocolates, thick fuzzy socks and even a leather bound journal all tumbling out, wrapper after wrapper being thrown away and discarded. “Journal because your head is very pretty.” Harry had explained, pretending to be very reasonable about it. “It’s everything mum and Gems chose alright? Blame them if you don’t like it.” 

And there. That’s it. 

Louis had refused to listen to a single word beyond that, pouncing at Harry and pouring in everything he has to say through his hands and lips instead. It’s gratitude, see. It’s such fierce, burning gratitude that has rendered him to a point where he can only feel. Only sense. Only touch. Only crave. 

‘All I want for Christmas’ crooned through the lull of the evening while they swayed and even proper danced (on Harry’s insistence) all through the house, socked feet tripping and lights glimmering all around. The world becomes a beautiful, spectacular mess in moments like these; Louis feels only desire and happiness. They’re the only emotions that Harry allows him to feel.

And when Louis recounts tales from university now, when he tells Harry about the Christmas he’d spent at Oxford where he spray painted an entire wall in the middle of London before heading to a mate’s Christmas party- only to remember the entire night as a blur of faces and alcohol after passing out near the frozen poolside and waking up with a splitting hangover- he speaks of those memories with a glint in his eye. With a happy sigh paired with it. A happy laugh, a happy giggle, a happy groan. 

It’s painless. There’s some longing, some nostalgia but it doesn’t hurt anymore. 

Harry had wrapped him up in heavy, soft blankets and made him cup after cup of cocoa, snuggling into the warmth himself and recounting tales of his own childhood. He occasionally broke into a song too, when everything got too drowsy and Louis got emotional when Harry told him his own family tradition of him baking batches of chocolate cookies all by himself to distribute to everyone in the neighborhood and then come back with pink cheeks and toes that were promptly bitten at by the cold.

“Baking is fun. I did it all through my growing up years and the adults- they just gorged. Monsters.” He’d said. “So adorable.” Louis murmured back, pressing his lips wherever they could reach. 

And they’re counting down the days now. The hours, the minutes, the seconds, all through warm kisses and cups of cocoa and the slide of smooth skin. 

Waiting. Waiting within desperate touches. Disconnected and content and wrapped in a hazy, wintry blur. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t spend Christmas with your family instead.” Louis mumbled when the day was coming to an end, his belly full with cookies and all kinds of sweet foods Harry had gleefully fed him and kissed his mouth with. It’s always at night, always when the house is too quiet and even kisses grow tiring; that’s when Louis feels the words form. “Did they not mind?” 

“Of course not.” Harry replied, no traces of doubt in his voice, “They’re quite content actually, my family. Happy and satisfied, no overbearing emotion attached to anything. At least not to a point where it gets frustrating.” He shuffled closer, breathing getting heavy. His jaw is relaxed and at a perfect distance for Louis to plant a kiss there. So he does. 

“Still can’t believe it though. This was the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” Louis had crept closer, burying his head in the crook of Harry’s neck who smells of cocoa and linen. “You’re the best everything I’ve ever had.” Louis smiles into it. 

Harry blushed then. All rosy pink and radiant smiles stretching across red lips as he’d held Louis closer, everything in the world aligning perfectly in place. The moon would be proud of the beauty held captive within their bodies. 

Louis also manages to put together enough strength to open his photo albums one afternoon. The sun is blazing and fiery, high in the sky while the world withers in cold underneath it when Louis presses shaky fingertips to the leatherbound albums, guiding Harry’s hand to flip the pages. 

There hadn’t been much talking, just gentle whispers and the soft rustle of old yellowing pages being flipped, Louis breathing in hard every single time before letting out a wet laugh and pressing at the pictures. “That’s me bagging first place at the Annual function in school.” “That’s me playing Danny in Grease at a neighborhood talent hunt.” “That’s my mum laying dinner while I’m buried in some book I was reading- what’s this even doing here? Phoebe or Daisy must have clicked it while no one was looking. Sneaky sisters I’ve got.” “That’s… At a beach. One of the few vacations we could afford, so I’d made the most of it.” And Harry, being the unabashed, free soul he is, had gone to the lengths of pressing his lips to Louis’ ears and whispering closely, “You were a very attractive teenager. I’m not surprised.”

Ha. 

Not surprised at all. Louis was definitely a very pretty teenager. Good looks always add to the overall charm, it’s something he learnt over time. 

So the hours passed by exactly the way they did every single day now. Heated, slow, passionate, as they relish every last bit of delicate emotions, laying it all bare on their skin and flaunting it high when they’d take occasional walks through the Communitas. It’s always quiet towards the later half of the evening since most of the Communitas was empty now, most activity and noise being centered in the city instead. Christmas holiday is a grand, indulgent thing out there, leaving no room for quiet; just lots of alcohol and luxurious parties and grand dinners and whatever else Louis remembers it to be like. 

“New Years’ Eve is in two days, can you believe it?” Louis whispered on the 29th, his hand firmly held within Harry’s warm grip. It’s grounding, it helps him focus when his mind starts losing its way. “Two days until everything changes.” 

The tone is final. It doesn’t shake along the ripples of the wind, doesn’t quiver, doesn’t disintegrate. It cements itself instead, buries itself in the cracks of the scruffy up pavement. 

“Let’s dance to that.” Harry had prompted then, humming under his breath and grabbing Louis by the waist as they twirled through empty streets, through dark alleys and around glowing streetlamps. They sing into each others’ mouths, stumble over jagged stones, bump into each others’ warm chests and kiss underneath the stars because it’s simple and yet it’s momentous. 

And it feels perfect this way. Louis isn’t scared. 

He doesn’t let the fear catch up at all. There’s no space for that, not now. Not when everything around feels like whispers of reassurance, of strength and grand moments like dancing through the one place he’d always associated with bitterness is now perpetually glazed in happiness and love and fearlessness. 

He feels the grip, the whoosh of his stomach with the feeling of the world regaining some footing, splayed out for him beneath his feet. 

***

“I’ve to put in my resignation today.” 

Harry looks up, eyelashes sweeping across the planes of his cheeks as he averts his attention from clearing up the scrabble game on the coffee table that they’d left halfway last night. 

“Yeah?” He frowns a little, eyebrows scrunching in a concerned gaze that still never fails to ping Louis. He must have caught the bits of tension hanging off Louis’ shoulders- it is rather prominent. 

“Yeah uh, the pub is supposed to be closed today but my manager is coming in to collect the resignation. I’ve to clear my things from there anyways.” Louis shuffles a little, cold soaking in through his socks. It’s a very misty afternoon outside, the sun is bright but everything around is hazy and coated in dull greys. It spurs some life into Louis though, the sight of the unyielding sun above all of it is a warm hug. 

Harry’s watching with careful eyes, fingers fidgeting with the scrabble piece in his hand. There’s some understanding, some genuine care written in the lines of his face; he recognizes Louis’ flaws here. Knows he isn’t perfect and it’s perfectly reasonable for the moment to feel huge to him right now. 

“It’s the 30th. It’s a day you won’t forget, ever.” Harry gets up, grey sweatpants hanging off his gorgeous love handles as he slowly beckons towards Louis. “Today’s special then. A day of change.” 

He makes everything sound just so lovely. 

Louis’ hands immediately slip around Harry’s waist, locking perfectly together when they settle into a hug, bodies fitting together like pieces of a wondrous puzzle. 

“It’ll take longer. I just... Might walk around a bit. Get a feel of everything since it’s all like... Final.” Louis whispers against Harry’s chin, closing his moist eyes for long seconds. 

“It _is_ final.” Harry breathes out, that distinct early morning fragrance he has still lingering around them. “Take your time. I’ll be right here, waiting for you.” 

“Loving someone really makes them feel powerful huh.” Louis laughs out, wet and sudden. He looks into the murky green gazing down, glinting softly. “Because I barely feel in control at all right now. I can’t believe any of this is even happening.” 

“That’s the beauty to all of it isn’t it?” Harry laughs too, hugging Louis very close, resting his cheek atop his head. His smell is something so familiar, so _grounding_. 

“Yeah.” Louis closes his eyes tighter, letting himself rest for a few moments. Everything feels perfectly balanced somehow, nothing out of place. “Yeah it is.” 

***

Louis takes the long way to the pub. It’s chilly and biting as he pushes his windbreaker closer, burying his hands deeper into his pockets as his Vans slap against the cold pavement, the Communitas looming high and against bleary oranges around him. 

The sky is slowly dulling to rich pink, pastel colors melting their way into the grey clouds, all of it paired with one, bright sun in the middle. The air smells of distant Christmas, a little sweet and cold; probably having drifted from the city and mingling through the deserted alleys and bylanes here. 

Louis walks and walks and walks, hands tightening and spine upright while he meanders through the Communitas, through all the places he remembers seeing for the first time a year back. Back then, when the park benches had looked too grim, too dusty. The veranda looked too big, the alleyways and twisting bylanes reeked a little too much, the now shuttered shops were too dark and shadowy. Everything had been deep blacks, blues and cold and horrible and filled with so much bitterness from Louis’ own soul; he’d never even _tried_ to appreciate it. 

But now? Now there’s a sense of victory. An airy feeling of nostalgia. 

Few stray icicles hang low, a few even dusting the window panes of parked cars and smeared around the cobblestones. It hasn’t properly snowed yet and it’s like the surroundings are slowly preparing for it, warming up to it. The same dark, chipped pavements will be covered in thin layers of white in a few weeks, the same shadowy alleys will be decorated with bits of frost and sporadically falling snow. It’s beautiful, is what it is. Not grim. Not saddening. _Beautiful_. 

Louis makes sure to pass by all of it, refusing to leave behind a single spot within the Communitas where his feet- now firm and reverent- haven’t touched. It’s the one place that provided him a home when he had most needed it. 

And even if it’s over now. Even if it’s not home anymore; Louis can’t leave without expressing gratitude. Just… Genuine, warm gratitude. 

A bird sings him a slow, quiet tune. Somewhere far away in the distance. 

***

The pub is empty and dark and so fucking loud. 

Louis is just about grazing his fingertips across the fine grained countertop, just about settling moist eyes over the greasy wood, remembering all the times he’d scrubbed, washed, disinfected it with clammy, shaky hands. He really, truly hated it at one point didn’t he? Such fierce, angry hatred simmering to the surface…. every single day. It’s such a warm thought now, something that makes him smile to himself as he just about lifts his fingers and goes to touch the glass cabinet instead; the one he had opened and slammed close on so, so many nights, feeling sad, lingering and empty from within. 

But there’s a low, sudden jingling just then. 

Louis immediately whips around, the slow, soul drenched emotions in his veins being replaced by quick alertness. He still can’t help the tug at the bottom of his stomach in response to the sound, it’s the same jingling that used to echo through the busy pub, through the ripples of his skin every evening. 

It’s… Stan. 

“Stan.” Louis breathes out, confused. His manager isn’t even here yet and Stan is here instead, breathless and red cheeked as he huffs into the pub, a thick black jacket hugging his exhausted figure, wind nipping at his scarfed neck. “Stan, what are you doing here? It’s- shouldn’t you be in the city right now? Christmas Holidays?”

It’s really quiet. A pin drop could literally resonate through the cold air. 

Stan is still quite breathless when he swings the door shut, darkness pressing in all around them. He slowly takes off his grey beanie, buzz cut hair making an appearance, “I heard you were resigning.” He licks his lips, a tad bit distracted, “Harley is out of town so like, he told me to collect the resignation.” He looks a little lost in himself, eyes moistening, “At least I got here in time. Practically raced all the way here, it’s freezing outside. Might even start snowing in a bit, winters pick up pace really late here. So.” He laughs, voice low. 

Huh. So their manager is out of town and okay- that does make perfect sense. He never stays in the Communitas during the holidays, always taking his wife and kids to some big, lively city instead. It had always worked in favor of Louis though, the pub used to stay shut on most holidays. Always gave him a bit of a lie in. 

“I _am_ resigning. Taking a job in the city instead.” Louis replies, swaying on the balls of his feet. Stan watches him carefully, nothing steely or condescending about his gaze. “I uh- none of this was supposed to be permanent anyways. It...” He shuffles a bit, voice wavering, “It’s still a huge part of my life though.” 

Stan’s gaze falls a bit, his jaw slowly shutting itself. The surroundings dim even further, soft sunlight trickling in through the shutters behind them. 

“That’s... Wow.” 

“It _is_ wow.” Louis lets out an empty laugh. 

There’s a pause. 

“Seriously though.” Stan beckons forward, very warm and open. Louis can’t believe this is the same man he’d almost hated just a few weeks back. Such a long, long time ago. “This is massive. Everything like... You’re a changed man.” He laughs out, a little nervous, tugging at the thick scarf around his neck. 

He really doesn’t know what to say without fumbling through it; it’s just so, so prominent. Louis can’t help but soften a bit at that, feeling slightly sympathetic.

And Stan’s moving, moving faster than Louis can register properly until he’s pulled into an embrace. It’s a little stiff, a little uncertain but it’s the emotion behind it that really matters. And Stan here… He’s being unbelievable right now. 

Louis huffs a bit, overwhelmed by all of it. It’s the same guy here see, the same person who stood behind the cluttered counters every evening with him, shuffling beside him to serve so, so many drinks, calling him over to serve a particular, gruffy customer, yelling at him when the crowds choked every corner of the room, smoke and chatter filling the crevices; night after night, serving pint after pint. 

It’s the same person. The same person who Louis isn’t going to work with anymore. 

Louis pats his back, a little awkward, swallowing down a lump before they part, his peripherals dulling. Stan holds his shoulders, a grin on his face, eyes shining, “I’ll always be there for you man. I live right next to the central city park, near that huge roundabout you know, smack dab in the middle of the city.” 

Louis doesn’t know, but doesn’t voice it. Of course. 

“So yeah, I’ll- Just remember I’ll be there.” Stan swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in the middle of his lightly stubble covered throat. His gaze is open and genuine, “All the best Louis. It’s all going to be great- you deserve it.” He laughs a bit, cheeks bright, “Even though it probably took me a little too long to realize.” 

“Not it’s- that’s fine. It means a lot.” Louis nods, shaking his head. He lifts up his arm, pulling out the folded letter from a flap in his windbreaker, “Give this to Harley; tell him that… Tell him thanks. For letting me work here when I really needed the money.” 

Fuck- it’s done. This- it’s really _done_. Louis needs to catch his breath a bit. 

Stan nods, swiping a tongue across his bottom lip as he takes the letter in his own hand. He looks down at it for a few, long seconds, deep in thought as the sound of the ticking clock set high up the wall further away slowly filters in. 

The letter is taken from Louis’ hand and Stan looks up, fingers clenched tightly on the paper as a sudden smile creeps in on his face. It throws Louis off a little bit because he can’t trace the emotion behind it. “I figured it out by the way.” 

What. 

“Huh?” Louis frowns, watching Stan back away, feet scuttling on the wood. The clock ticks louder, sending a strange chill down his spine. 

“I figured it out.” Stan calls out, nearly reaching the door, feet tripping on one another, resonating through the damp silence. He looks manic. “Your boyfriend, Harry!” 

The air stills. 

“What- what about him?” Louis’ breath catches. 

No, no, no. Not this. Not again. Not fucking again.

“Your boyfriend- I can’t believe it took me so long- it’s _Harry_.” Stan laughs, backing away completely now, leaving an unreachable void in between. Louis doesn’t dare propel himself. “That’s Harry _Styles_. Harry freaking Styles.” He yells, words louder than ever. 

The wood withers under Louis’ shoes, jagged spikes cutting through cold flesh. 

“Who? Stan- wait, no!” Louis’ feet are already moving, pure, undiluted panic dripping into his bloodstream as he stumbles ahead, “ _Stan_!” 

Harry. His _Harry-_ what- 

Stan is gone though. The door is swinging hauntingly, wind bursting right through, soaking into Louis’ bones and stilling the surroundings. 

Harry Styles- Harry… 

It happened too fast, all of it- Stan can’t just- 

_“I’m never, ever going to do anything to hurt you”_ , Harry’s words, from the night he’d abruptly left come back to him. It doesn’t provide half the reassurance Louis wishes it did. 

So he crumples instead. He crumples to the cold, hard floor, hands shaking and lips quivering just as the first set of goosebumps spring on his skin. 

***

_“That’s Harry Styles. Harry freaking Styles._ ”

The bedroom blurs around Louis, colors blending and head swimming as he kisses Harry that evening, hands racing underneath his chest, tugging fervently at the burning skin. 

“Harry.” Louis breathes out, just because; his chest heaving as he pushes even closer, their ankles bumping against each other. Lips burn against one another, fingers catching on seams and heart endings.

Harry freaking Styles. 

Louis tugs. He tugs and tugs and tugs because he doesn’t know what else to do, doesn’t know how else to wrap his mind around any of this; instead focusing on Harry’s skin, focusing on the desperate slide of their lips. 

“ _Yeah uh- what’s the name on the bill?”_

_“Harry.”_

_“That’s all? Just Harry?”_

_“Yeah. Will that be a problem?”_

Louis’ knees give in, shaking violently as fingers slip underneath his waistband, the world blurring and deblurring all around them. 

_“What is it? What are you hiding from me? Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?”_

He can’t… He can’t question anything right now. He really can’t. Not when they’re here, they’re together, lips slotting and skin burning and they’d promised to conquer worlds hand in hand. 

_“I feel powerful.”_

_“I think that’s what happens when you love someone. I feel powerful too.”_

“Harry.” Louis mumbles, chest tightening. He feels the lips detach from his mouth, insistent and purposeful, latching on the crook of his neck instead, Harry’s fingertips pressing underneath his waist. Lower. 

Louis sighs through it, eyes rolling back, sliding lower. 

He doesn’t have time. There’s no room for any confrontation right now and Louis... He almost doesn’t want to know at all. Is it fear? Probably. But love reigns, painful and ablaze and that’s all he can even feel. 

_“It’s because we climbed down a smoke hole.”_

_“We did. Didn’t we? It’s worth something right?”_

_“Everything. It’s worth everything.”_

Louis gives up now. His body loosens and the world gains some clarity, Harry’s touches feeling realer than before, his hair feeling firmer underneath Louis’ tight clutch. 

He’s weak. Far too weak- they’re nearly reaching the end now. Tomorrow is the day and no, Louis isn’t letting anything rupture right now. Not now, no. “Louis?” Harry’s sighing against his mouth, his heart beating hard underneath Louis’ palm, his bare chest pushing against Louis’ own. 

This matters. Right now, _this_ matters. 

“I’m yours’ Harry.” Louis breathes out, their bodies melting into the glaze of the night, bare skin blazing against the slide of their bodies as they touch, feel and get lost in the heat of all of it. The night fizzles, the mattress giving in. “I’m all yours.” 

Outside, high up above the wintry smog looming over Nottingham; right there, amongst the stars, the moon bursts into pieces. 

***

It’s New Years’ Eve. The 31st of December. 

Louis remembers the nights he’d spent in his bed with piles of books and papers and all the pencils that left graphite stains on his sheets as he’d sat up all the way till next morning, eyes skimming over texts and pictures and scripts; whilst the countdown would begin, booming loud from beyond his frosty windows, stirring the light behind his own eyes. 

He remembers few of his mates barging into his room then with crisps and beers and party streamers hanging around their shoulders as they’d sit all over his books and cheer, cheer, cheer. On and on and on. And Louis would laugh and take a few sips, a little too careful with the intake considering his study schedules; but he’d smile and give large, joyous hugs and breathe it all in, the sights, the scents, the energy that would fill his veins as he looked around. The future had felt bright then- it was right there, in the palm of Louis’ hand. He knew what to do and he knew he’d ace it. He had to. 

He’d even grab his jacket and walk through the streets of London by himself when dawn would set in and all the words in his head would become a blurry mess. He’d walk past the cold, snow lined pavements with a glint in his eye as the sun would streak down upon his exhausted face; making the entire city glow amidst all the post celebration mess. Empty beer bottles, pamphlets, wreaths, party poppers, cigarettes, even couples and youngsters clinging to each other on a cold chair whilst morning sunlight would drape them in gold. 

_New Years’._

Because that’s what the whole point of it is right? Of hope and a new start and whatever else people look forward to with a gusto and twinkle of glee. A new beginning; looking beyond the horizon, at a bright, hopeful future. 

And Louis feels it now. 

He feels it now, running through his veins and shivering down his spine as he feels for the fingers interlaced around his own, he tugs at the warm skin and clings closer to the bare body wrapped around his. Because it’s Harry right there. 

It’s embodiment of hope right there. 

It’s warm, gentle, lovely and it’s everything, every last bit Louis has associated with hope for months now. He can feel the curls spilling down his neck, curls that aren’t even a part of his own body and yet- yet feel so, so familiar. He needs to just move a bit and he can see Harry still asleep, morning sunshine filtering through the windows and making his entire being glow in ethereal light. He’s so, so gorgeous. 

Harry’s holding onto him, limp and asleep but still very much interlocking their limbs and arms together loosely, as though Louiswould slip away and crumble if he’s let go of. The touch is familiar and Louis clings, clings, clings because he doesn’t ever want to let go, doesn’t ever want to know what it feels like without that touch surrounding him, without Harry’s skin burning into his. 

And. It’s New Year's Eve.

“Harry.” Louis feels the word come to his lips with such practiced ease as he tugs a bit, pulling at Harry’s arms with a gentle sort of desperation. “ _Harry_.” 

“Sleep, Lou.” Harry’s heavy, sleepy voice rasps into the morning light, his entire body glowing like rosy porcelain. He doesn’t move at all, just holds closer, smelling of fresh laundry and lilac. Louis gives into it. 

“It’s New-” Louis starts. 

“I need you to sleep for now.” Harry’s husky voice immediately fills all the empty spaces. There’s an edge of gentle assertion there, heavy with exhaustion and really- that’s all Louis needs to exhale and let himself go loose as he settles his head into the crook of Harry’s bare collarbones, limbs wrapped as he breathes him in, refusing to ever imagine what his absence would feel like. 

***

“It is courage, courage, courage that raises the blood of life to crimson splendor.” 

Silence. 

“Is this an adorable attempt of yours to calm me down?” 

Harry bursts out laughing, red cheeked and flushed. He’s shaking his head though, dimples popping up on either cheek. “Well. _I’m_ nervous.” 

Louis laughs this time, shaky and smiling stupidly to dispel the way his chest keeps painfully contracting every few seconds. He tugs at the scarf twirled around the lamp post near the bed, incandescent glow spilling out once the fabric is moved. Slowly, he drapes it around Harry’s neck, pressing their foreheads together in breathy laughter, “ _You’re_ nervous? You’re you Harry. If you can bring a person back to life, there’s nothing you can’t do.” 

Dusk is settling outside, the orange glow subsiding to nocturnal blues. It feels like a slow, heart thumping timer set within the cells of Louis’ skin, every hour growing darker alongside the ticking clock, alongside Louis’ growing anticipation. 

The whole day had been that way. Tick-tock tick-tock. It had been a very short day since they’d awoken only in the middle of the afternoon, letting time slow down around their sleepy bodies, the sun rising all the way up, to the middle of the cloudy grey sky and then dip, dip, dip. All the way down, everything burning bright in its wake, streams of watery sun washing in through the windows. Every creak on the floorboards had been too loud, every kiss too deep, every sip of water too noisy, everything feeling too still, too heavy; caught in breathless anticipation. 

And now they’re nearly there. It’s almost time. 

“You’re comforting _me_ right now, oh wow-” Harry laughs again, jittery round the corners. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, breathing out. “-you’ve waited so long for this.” 

Louis' pulse is still rickety and clammy but he manages to nod and chuckle a bit, nervous but brave. Always brave. “Yeah it’s… I don’t want to think. Not now.” 

“Then you don’t have to.” Harry sighs, breathing lowering down to a silent hum. He shuffles a little, crossing the little distance between them on the bed and bringing their shaky bodies in for an embrace. Louis’ next breath rattles out in slow quakes, clutching Harry’s warm body fervently and forcing himself to soothe every jittery muscle. Every last part of his body is screaming in fear. 

It’s time. Almost there. 

***

“What do you want to do with this?” Harry asks, one gloved hand resting on the ebony door handle and the other holding up a sheet of paper. 

Louis’ termination paper. 

“You’d have asked me this three months back and I’d have probably sobbed and asked you to burn it to bits.” Louis shuffles ahead, vans dragging on the floorboards. His body won’t stop shaking. He takes the paper from Harry’s gentle grip, sighing down at it, “Let it be. Just keep it aside.” 

“Sure?” Harry raises an eyebrow, mouth agape. 

“Yeah it’s...” Louis shakes his head, biting his lip as he ruffles the paper a bit before stuffing it into the pocket of his windbreaker. The red and blue one, the one he has worn every single day for more than a year. “It’s evidence of the blow that hit me hard but couldn’t keep me down.” 

Louis drops his hand again, turning away from the door, eyes instinctively reaching to the coffee table this time. To the glossy paper; the damn pamphlet that had been nothing but rough company every night- until now. 

“But this- I’m never letting this go.” He drags his feet till there, gaze not half as hard and shaky as he remembers it always being. So he picks it up, relishing the bloom and flutter of pride that blossoms at the sight of it; it’s a picture of his nineteen year old self there, it’s _his_ name there. His name that had been written in bold for _his_ show. “Keeping this one real close.” 

Harry’s smile breaks through, pink lips tracing into a lovely, gentle curve as he reaches for Louis’ hand, creaking the door to the flat open. “It’s really time then.”

“It’s time.” Louis repeats, letting his hand fasten around the grip, stuffing both papers deep into his windbreaker. Two sharp sides of his tumultuous tale. 

He glances back at his home only once, something akin to gratitude flitting behind his gaze before shutting the door and turning away completely. 

***

“Harry.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“Harry no- shit-”

“Louis, it’s fine, really.” 

Louis proper whimpers, his insides quaking as Harry gently guides him closer, painfully closer to the iron grills. The one place that still never fails to jolt every nerve ending in Louis’ body. 

They’re here. Actually _here_. 

“I’m opening the gate-”

“No wait. _Shit_ Harry...” Louis stumbles, a cold trickle dripping down his spine. He breathes in and out. Once, twice, thrice. Then five times, then six. 

Cement is painfully digging into the thin soles of his Vans and everything feels pretty damn uncomfortable right now, the city lights all twinkling innocently just metres away. And somewhere, _kilometers_ away probably, there’s definitely some huge party going on in some rooftop hotel out there, because Louis can see a beam of light swaying in the cold, starlit sky when he raises his gaze up, all of it in rhythm to a distant, poppy tune. It’s loud and it’s calling to him. 

“You know what?” Louis finds his hands moving quickly, fingers instinctively slipping into the insides of his windbreaker, brushing past the papers inside and grazing something else. “ _This_ is what is needed right now.” 

The bottle in his hand is pulled out in one swift move and uncapped, scarf pressing into his neck as Louis throws his head back and takes a long sip; obnoxious, fruit smells hitting his senses. 

“Oh…. my God. Are you _serious_?” Harry’s jaw drops open, mirth coloring his previously shaky gaze, fingers sliding away from the iron grills, “Is that-”

“Gut wrenching flavored water, yes.” Louis swallows another long sip, his insides bubbling with the way the liquid churns. He detaches the bottle from his lips, few droplets trickling down his chin and settling on his woolen scarf before stretching an arm out to Harry, “The first conversation we’d ever had all those weeks back, I remember every last bit of it. I still remember you found the lemonade too punched-” Harry laughs, chest heaving as Louis pulls at his bottom lip, feeling strangely emotional, “It got restocked yesterday when I went to give in my resignation; so I grabbed a bottle because well… how could I not?” 

Harry’s hands clutch at the bottle with a strange intimacy, uncapping it and throwing his own head back, moonlight burning around his silhouette. 

“Oh wow- that’s- it’s fucking _horrible_.” Harry’s face is scrunched and highly unamused when he lowers his head. He sniffs a little, nose pinkish as he swallows down the long sip he took.

“That’s exactly why I called it gut wrenching.” Louis shakes his arms a little, bending his neck from side to side and letting his limbs stretch out, cold biting his nose. He’s being very dramatic but it doesn’t matter. The moment is too big, it’s too important. 

It’s... life changing? Literally speaking. 

“Come full circle then, very bizarrely so.” Harry hands back the bottle, face still pink and syrupy. They _have_ come full circle; every piece from the beginning somehow melding into place. From the night Louis first met Harry. 

Louis’ throat clutches painfully, reality once again washing over once the temporary ecstasy subsided. The gates. Still there. 

“Okay. Twelve months, it’s just twelve months I haven’t stepped out; it’s no big deal. Nothing too much, I can do this right? I just have to step past this stupid boundary that used to actually proper haunt me at one point but that’s over now right? That’s-”

Harry sighs, his hand finds the edge of Louis’ windbreaker, fingers pressing into the fabric and lurching him forward as their lips collide; feet dragging on the dry, mildly frosty ground. Louis’ fingers instinctively find the dip of Harry’s waist as he presses into the kiss, hungry for some feeling. Harry tastes fruity and sweet and feels very real, very solid. 

The last thing Louis hears is the sickening metallic grate of iron on iron, infinitely loud and resonating all through the thick, deserted silence of the Communitas that they now leave behind. 

***

It’s eerie. Loud and strikingly eerie. 

Or it’s probably just Louis’ mind playing tricks on him which wouldn’t be too surprising at all. 

Because here it is. Here is what all of it culminates into; bright lights all around and huge frosty streetlamps and wide, noisy roads and fruity, alcohol tinged air and slow tingling music rippling through the breeze amidst a distant background of thumping party music. It’s loud, loud, loud. 

Louis feels dizzy. 

Harry has just about found the bend of Louis’ waist, curling at his windbreaker so as to hold him there, his own hands quivering to the touch, the streets all widening out for them. It’s all so huge, so… Momentous. 

Yet there’s an undercurrent of simplicity to it. Harry’s grip is grounding, a familiar touch on alien grounds. Well, sort of. 

Twelve months. It’s twelve months since Louis’ feet had stepped on any soil that wasn’t part of the Communitas. Twelve months since his brain had promptly clicked shut and adamantly refused to even _consider_ what the city would’ve transformed into over time. Because time makes all the difference, it’s always ticking away, always slipping out of Louis’ fingers like streams of sand; every room, every clock, every calendar used to ignite agitation. It would hurt every time because there was so much helplessness paired with all of it then,when he thought he was so incapable. So weak in the face of ever making change. 

Now time isn’t quite slipping away anymore. It’s still ticking and the city bell is still very much counting down the minutes, the seconds down to ring in the new year but there’s a difference now- there’s courage melded into it. Into every step Louis takes. 

“You can’t be brave without being scared.” Harry’s whispering sweetly, voice melting away into the cold, nipping winds racing down the streets, whiplashing at all the huge, mildly frosty trees surrounding the sides of the bylane they’re walking through. 

They haven’t even reached the main road yet and it’s still so, so loud. Like the horizon doesn’t end at all and has instead unfurled on all sides, the landscape stretching out in music and light. So unlike the perpetual, long drawn silence of the Communitas. 

“I’m not- I can barely breathe Harry.” Louis words moisten, emotion welling up in his bones immediately. It has been so long. So, so long and he’s here. He’s actually here, feet unbalanced and jaw quivering against the onslaught of the wind, but still _here_. 

He took the first leap. 

Harry fingers tighten on his waist just then, his own grip slightly off. But he’s being so unbelievably in control despite the wilted, nervous mess Louis is beside him and yes- Louis loves this boy. Truly, unabashedly loves him to bits. 

The sky arches above, more open, somehow larger and darker than Louis remembers watching it from the confines of his home in the Communitas; bold and loud and lit up. And then suddenly, without any prior warning, he’s being brought to a stop, feet knocking into the cleaner, well cemented pavement, music tinkling louder in the background before Harry’s lips insistently press against his own. 

_Oh_. 

Okay then. It’s not like Louis can ever get tired of being kissed anyways. 

“Now can you breathe?” Harry’s lips quiver when he pulls back. It’s cold and it’s… Not exactly breathy. Not gentle or even desperate, just… A little off. Probably. 

“Yeah.” Louis nods, eyes scrunching up in concern. There’s music pounding really loud from all around, multiple grand parties in thumping progress, muffled cheers and yells drifting in from far, far away because well- it’s New Years’ Eve after all. A reason for celebration. It ignites a flame, a tiny flickering flame of desire within Louis; because all the nights he’d spent being a part of those celebrations is still emblazoned bright in his mind. His eyes catch Harry, “Yeah- yeah, I can breathe.” 

Harry immediately kisses him again, his lips shivering against Louis’ before pulling back again, breathless despite the kiss having been so short. “Because I can’t.” 

“Why? Babe.” Louis frowns, his balance teetering even further on catching the clear unease behind Harry’s usually open gaze. It’s _off_. 

Louis lifts his arms, holding Harry’s face in gloved palms, rubbing careful, concerned fingers down the planes of his cheeks, “Why are you so cold?” The cold is practically soaking in through Louis’ gloves and it isn’t like Harry at all. He’s always warm no matter how shriveled up and cold Louis feels beside him. 

“Not cold, no. I’m alright.” Harry’s gaze softens, turning his cheek to peck Louis’ glove like the lovely tulip he is, holding Louis’ fingers with his own. He bites his lip, thinking for a few seconds before whispering, “Where exactly are we going?” 

Oh. Right. 

Yeah that’s… Well. 

“Well I uh… I took the leap. The most important one at least.” Louis fumbles a little, sliding his finger tips away from Harry’s face and latching it to his waist again, very snug. “Threw myself in, as you’d keep saying.” He laughs, chest feeling lighter for the first time in hours. It’s _okay_. It’s all okay. “So, we can go to the theatre as visitors if it’s still open, I’ll show you around. Or we can check out the smaller theatres for job vacancies or something, or just... Mingle with the chaos around here.” 

It really isn’t too bad. The chaos is still a little distant, vehicles still very few, engines all coughing and rattling down the long, wide lanes. Louis faintly remembers the scent of the trees on either side of them; they always had a very characteristic lemony green shade and even though the cold has withered them a bit now and frost clings in place instead- it’s still a warm thought. 

“Mingle in the chaos.” Harry repeats, slowly breathing out beside him, eyes trained on the ending of the lane that connects them to the main road. His hair is covered in bits and traces of wispy snow, brown locks all covered in pieces of silver. A gorgeous mess. 

“Harry?” Louis runs a tentative eye across Harry’s visibly tensed face. The lines there horribly clash with all the beauty the rest of him holds. This isn’t really getting any better. “Are you cold? Is it me? Did I make this whole thing very scary for you too?” 

Harry forces a smile, sighing as he smirks a little. “No Louis, it’s not scary. It’s… Done. You got here. Took the one leap that matters the most- and you had _faith_. Faith _even_ in me and everything I said.” 

_“Faith even in me and everything I said.”_

Louis’ chest pings. 

“Of course I had faith, it’s the only reason I made it till this far and…” Louis trails off, feeling the insides of his brain whir. Really fast. He frowns just as they turn into the main road, a loud horn screeching immediately as a fleet of vehicles rush past, filled with so many people, all with so many different lives. So many individual tales of their own, flaws and demons that they struggle with, failures and successes all still leaving effects on their nimble souls. 

_“Faith even in me and everything I said.”_

“Why... Why did you just say that with such disbelief?” Louis barely looks up, barely cares about the burst of bright, loud colors in front of him just then, horns and cheers now louder, more prominent. The world is illuminated and rich all around and this is the city- this is- 

“You know why you instilled so much curiosity in me from the first day itself?” Harry isn’t moving and his gaze has deepened, something bold and terrifying settling behind. He stills Louis, doesn’t let him turn around to catch a proper view of where they’ve reached, where the backdrop is a blur of noise and bursting colors. “I’d see it in the way you’d speak, in the passion that you’d pour into every damn thing you talked about. It never died in you you know, that bright flame never completely died. It didn’t take me too long to realise that you’re a dreamer- a huge dreamer with massive dreams which you kept stifling. On and on.” 

Louis’ feet can barely feel the ground, his body fully turned towards Harry. The massive, jam packed roads, the noisy line of hotels and boutiques and billboards all stretch out in color and light behind him. Them. 

“I’m a dreamer too, always have been. I just… took a really different direction.” Harry’s eyes avert up, away from Louis’ face who literally watches the gaze there _shake_ , rattle like a bunch of keys, irises glinting off light. “So it… You breathed life into me. Everything about you. And every day I’d tell myself that you needed to know the whole truth- needed to know the entirety of all of it despite how shockingly massive it is, and-”

_“Have I seen you before? You don’t live in the city do you?”_

_“Have we ever met? You look familiar.”_

_“You’ve spent multiple nights in New York?”_

The city blends into the bleary night sky, green eyes illuminating blacks. Louis doesn’t miss the way his stomach swoops, puzzle pieces bumping and fitting into place. 

_“I can’t believe it took me so long- That’s Harry Styles. Harry freaking Styles.”_

“Turn around Louis.” Harry’s melodic voice drifts, eyes glazed and painfully soft. 

So Louis turns, fighting down every other sickeningly loud urge to flee. 

_“Harry Styles. Harry freaking Styles.”_

It’s there. 

Right there, in huge gold letters, high atop a billboard right in front. Black and gold canvas stretches out on the massive billboard, lights surrounding it and keeping it heavily illuminated. All of it white and bold, making the colors and letters glow fierce amidst the backdrop of the frosty night sky and yellow speckled buildings and there- 

There’s Harry. Harry Styles. His Harry. 

It’s him. Printed on the massive billboard.

It’s Harry in a dark, glittery black suit, wearing a clean, plush white shirt unbuttoned at the top, and showing off his tattooed chest as the sides of his tuxedo skim underneath. His gorgeous, slim legs lay stretched out in front of him, the color very bold; a streak of stitched red bands is on his trousers, clashing with the overall black suit. Only one side of his body is visible though, hair falling luxuriously down the side of his face and he’s… He’s lying down and looking up, at the nightsky almost, everything apart from his body is deep obsidian. His delicate hands lay on his chest, eyes somewhere above. 

_The Night We Met._

That’s the name of Louis’ favorite song and the one they’d always hum and dance to in the living room on so many evenings and it’s also…. It’s also an album title. _Harry’s_ album title. 

_“I’m right here though. Right here living for the moments I can’t put into words.”_

Every single puzzle piece clicks right into place. 

“You’re…” Louis feels dizzy, the words _‘The Night We Met, Harry Styles’_ blurring in front. The billboard is too bright and Harry- he’s literally right there and _here_. Here. “You’re a _popstar_.” 

“With rock star streaks as journalists like to describe me.” Harry looks terrified. Proper, blood ridden terrified, his face now covered in sheen. His tresses catch some frost. “But yeah... I am a popstar. One of many who somehow landed themselves in the music industry.” 

Louis’s still trying to feel for his throat, still trying to force air into his lungs as he inhales deeply. His soul rattles from within. It jars the night alive. 

It makes sense. Harry… He never answered any questions about his apparent university, never showed much emotion even in confrontation, never once talked about studies _at all_ , always perpetually buried in material to spur emotions. To… Help him write. Write a fucking album. 

“Why are you so scared?” Louis suddenly laughs, wet and heavy. The night is soaking in the cold. He tugs at Harry who had subconsciously created distance between them, face still a pale washed out white. “I’m not mad Harry, I’m not. We’re _dreamers_ as you just said; different fields and completely different scenarios but we’re still the ones who aren’t afraid of leaping to reach heights. Still the ones driven by passion and the hope to create, to _dream-_ Harry look at me.” 

He does. Achingly so and face grey but he does look at Louis, does still have life behind his gaze. This is still the boy who Louis loves, still the same boy who was the only reason Louis found courage. 

“Dreamers don’t give up so easily, do they?” Louis softens, reaching to touch Harry’s chin. “You taught me that. You taught me that it’s beautiful to be human- and people can belittle us; mock us for striving too much, for trying too hard all the time but it won’t ever stop us from dreaming.” 

Harry still isn’t speaking. Still isn’t making any movement or showing any emotion apart from nervous, dull energy. 

“Harry?” 

Louis smiles a little, small and watery. He catches Harry’s eyes, those stunning green eyes with flecks of gold; and everything that reminds Louis of home, of courage, of hope. Everything he thought he’d lost. 

“I love you Harry.” 

The city bell dings. Loud and ripping through the icy air. 

Harry’s gaze is one of fireworks and starlight when he grabs Louis close, a huge grin suddenly pushing at his lips, dimples rising to the surface. It’s open and free and there is nothing to hide anymore. Nothing to be afraid of because it’s there- the world; it’s on their palms. 

“I love you too. So, so much Louis; this is all because of you and the album comes out in just two months even when I once thought I wouldn’t be able to make a record again for a long time-” Harry’s fumbling with his words, he has so much to say. It is so clear, they’ve spent too long breathing despite the disconnect. Now it’s bridging, it’s blurring. “I was- was literally at the studio for so many nights before I even realized the feeling was mutual. That you felt the same way- that you loved me too.” Harry chuckles out, childish and giddy, forehead pressed against Louis’ own. “I’d write all the time, spend hours in the studio because just you existing made creating music so, so easy.” His eyes look wild and bright as he continues, “Everything was done in the mornings and afternoons before I’d come to the pub- and then-”

“TEN, NINE, EIGHT” The city is suddenly alight in loud, thundering voices. 

“-then it was your birthday and you didn’t even _tell me_ , so I had to leave in the middle of the night to prepone the deadline and wrap up the last few tiny bits on the record. Just so I could spend all my time with you after that -“ 

“And you did it. You created something so massive.” Louis cuts in, expression manic. It’s possible. Fucking insane, but possible. And he’s drowning, drowning, drowning in the applause, in the lights, in the winter, in the _life_ of it all. “You came to the Communitas to find some peace, didn’t you? Away from… whatever your life is like.”

It stings a bit- the realisation. But it isn’t half as strong as every other drug of ecstasy Louis feels high on, his breath hitching and body buzzing. 

Harry’s nodding though, face flooding with relief and adoration. He’s laughing too just as his fingers find the nape of Louis' neck, happy and beaming. “Exactly and I didn’t _just_ find peace- I found you Louis. I found everything I’d ever needed.” 

“FIVE, FOUR, THREE.” 

“What were the odds of us ever even finding each other?” Louis’s shouting into his face as the tears spill just then. 

“I don’t know but I’m so glad it happened.” Harry breathes out in response, mist, teardrops trickling down. 

“TWO, ONE-” 

They kiss. 

The city is alive and the screams of applause that erupts from every corner, every rooftop, every balcony, every university campus, burst right through Louis’ veins, pumping life and breath and the will to dream, to hope and to love, all right into his soul. 

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The cheers chase through every empty alley, every forgotten household, every distant warehouse, every broken soul and bleeding heart. It picks up all the bits and forces them together in the form of life and light and color. To ring in the New Year; to have the courage and dare hope for new beginnings. 

Louis kisses Harry with every last breath he can muster, the world bowing down to their breathless figures just as the first bout of snow begins falling. Down, down, down, drifting atop the alive city, catching on cold lips and tracing down hot necks, smattering all the way down pavements, on the edges, in the crevices, clinging to everything tangible and intangible. 

“Also you aren’t going to catch me if I fall again.” Louis whispers into the kiss, opening his mouth and pressing deeper, snow clinging to his skin, to Harry’s lips, to everything he can see. “I didn’t have the strength to say it back then, but I know that’s not how it even works.” He clutches at hair, at skin and dimples, “I do know that we’ll be there alongside each other through everything that ever dares to crumble and hold each other through everything that hurts and burns bright.” 

Harry’s focused on the kissing though, too focused on touching Louis’ face and kissing him deeply right there on the pavement, with snow dazzling and the city of Nottingham applauding. 

“What’s with the title by the way?” Louis laughs out, pulling back a little to catch his breath. “Your album. Why that title?” 

“It’s our song.” Harry hums sweetly against his mouth, leaning in to peck him, “Started off as your favorite song but developed into something for us- and also because the night we met pretty much changed my life.” 

Changed _their_ lives. 

“Two months you said? It’s going to be out there for everyone to listen to in _two months?_ ”

“Yeah.” Harry’s misty breath condensates on their lips, breathless and dazed. The glint of fear refuses to leave. “Louis this is not- I know it’s massive and probably really wrong to have kept it to myself for so long but-”

“I’m just not going to be over the tabloids or anything tomorrow morning at least right?” Louis grins and really, he doesn’t quite care right now. He thrived on attention and the thrill of all gazes in a room being on him at one point, and even if the level is heightened now, even if Harry’s life is a far stretch from anything he dares to imagine; he can still do it again. For Harry. 

“No- of course not Lou. My manager let me off since I’m technically on hiatus right now after my first album came out a year back. Paps haven’t been informed about my whereabouts.” 

Manager. First album. _Paps_. 

“Oh wow, that’s... You’re a proper celebrity then.” Louis breathes out, stomach swooshing in response to all the brand new information. Harry immediately looks trepid, guilt burning away at his gaze and no- Louis isn’t even scared of any of what he said. Of whatever Harry’s life may be like. He isn’t. 

_‘Hand in hand, we went down a Smoke Hole’_ The engravings catch Louis’ gaze, eyes falling to the ring proudly glinting on his finger. It’s them, together. Big dreamers and passionate lovers and Louis knows it’ll always be them. Always together. 

He looks up, lighter and certain, catching Harry’s positively fearful face. “It’s okay though. It’s all okay, I know why you were scared of telling me but Haz- I don’t care alright? The attention is fine and whatever else is to come can all be managed as long as we’re in it together.” Louis shakes a little, cold nipping harder, “You got me till here and I’m not afraid of facing anything else. At all.” 

He has been on stages all his life anyways. Performing and participating with unwavering enthusiasm whenever he’d get the chance. He knows what attention feels like and has rolled around in it with glee for _years-_ but this, it’s probably really different. Probably way more terrifying than he’s imagining it to be right now… But with a hand twined around his own, with a heart beating into his ears every morning, with cherry stained lips touching every spot his skin feels cold; he’s _brave_. 

He isn’t afraid of reaching beyond. Even on stormy, alien waters. 

Harry’s lips are parted and red and there’s some snow sticking to the side when he lets out a shaky cough, gratitude and warmth shading his irises. “Big dreamers and all that.” He chuckles a little, breath rattling. 

They kiss again, just to remind themselves that this is all real and the world is indeed right there, calling out, inviting and ecstatic. 

“So. Where do you want to go?” Harry smiles, joyous and proud and content as they interlock hands, turning around and making their way down the street. It’s gleeful and it’s fearless, Louis never wants to look away. 

“To the ends of the earth, wherever hope and instinct lead us to.” Louis tugs, eyes glinting off light from the stars. The heavens are all gazing down, admiring the future that is right there, in the cusp of Louis’ hand. “I’m not afraid of new beginnings now, not scared of chasing everything difficult and everything I love. Not anymore.” 

“The city then?” Harry’s eyes skim across the streets already laden with streamers and wreaths and crowds with beer bottles making their way through with inebriated breaths and clinging to sticky, cold bodies. 

“Anywhere Harry. I’ll take every leap that comes my way.” 

Harry looks back at him, boots hitting the pavement, his breath fogging, “You aren’t scared at all.” He smiles, incredulous. And proud. So fucking proud. 

“There’s no reason to be though.” Louis leans up, city light glazing against the newfound determination in his eyes. He looks at Harry, averting his gaze to the only boy he’s ever going to love, “Happy New Year Harry.” And when he looks back, he sees the quiet boy he’d first watched walk into the pub on that cold, smoky evening two months back. Shy and awkward and breathtaking. Louis only feels love, “We’re reaching for new beginnings now. Together.” 

“Together.” Harry promises, unafraid, bold and beautiful. The same boy. 

So they walk, walk to every corner that feels too loud or too daunting, they walk to the ends of everything that blooms trepidation but instills passion and love and thrill. 

Because they won’t ever regret the chances they didn’t take. Because the world can pick them to pieces all it wants to, but it will never fully drag them down. Never question the leaps of faith that work miracles. 

A bird sings through the late January morning, the world melting all around and alighting on fingertips that hold courage and passion. They aren’t afraid to love fearlessly and hold every broken piece even through fingers that bleed. 

~FIN~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello! Thank you so, so much for reading <3 
> 
> So... This story is basically an attempt of mine to ignite a feeling of hope. Like, just a tiny flame in the dark. It's all that's needed really. It's something that I found myself chasing for a long time- to have faith and harbor hope despite how terrifying any situation felt. It's something I wanted my first completed work to be about. So here we are :)
> 
> Also, this story would not have been possible without Velvetoscar's works. It was my main source of inspiration and every story written by them spurred me to write my own. I'm basically just indebted at this point haha.
> 
> Anyways, for any questions or anything at all-  
> Tumblr- [hlthemoonknows](https://hlthemoonknows.tumblr.com/)  
> I'm all for talking about anything and everything and I'm 16 so I can always endlessly go on about the beauty of Louis Tomlinson or anything along those lines if you ever need me to haha. He makes me very passionate after all!
> 
> Lots of love xx


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